


It's A Long Life to Always Be Longing

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Road Trips, Spells & Enchantments, Visions, a wild and thrilling variety of chapter lengths, canon compliant to the end of 11x23, deancaspinefest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: Dean’s life has always been dictated by duty rather than by need. So when Amara offers to give him the thing he needs most, he doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t this: a chance to rest, some time away from his life and his burdens. Now he’s trapped in an enchanted sleep, unable to bring himself back to the waking world.It’s up to Sam and Castiel to gather the components of a spell that will bring Dean back to them. Through road trips, honest conversations, and a lot of patience, they’ll make sure Dean comes home. And when he does, maybe he and Castiel will finally have a chance to act on long-buried feelings brought to the surface by their enforced separation.Canon-divergent from the end of 11.23.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the DeanCas Pinefest Challenge 2017.
> 
> Thank you to my incredible artist, entirely-the-wrong-sort, who went so far beyond the challenge requirements and created the gorgeous art throughout this story. I'm still overwhelmed by it. You can find their art masterpost [here.](http://entirely-the-wrong-sort.tumblr.com/post/157691879770/my-artwork-for-the-incredible-its-a-long-life-to)
> 
> Thank you to Anna, my beta, for encouragement and advice and finding all my single quotation marks and tirelessly correcting them. 
> 
> And thank you to the challenge mods for their dedication, their support, and their enthusiasm.
> 
> Note: I'm not from the U.S, so any driving directions/distances are courtesy of Google Maps. If I got it wrong, blame them.

It never gets any easier, the end of the world.

You’d think that by this time around, their past successes would give Dean a measure of confidence in their ability to keep the world turning. But no. Walking into that garden, all those souls held within his chest, waiting to be set free-- it’s just as daunting as the first time they set out to fix a catastrophic situation that they could be held at least _partially_ responsible for. 

But then something happens that has never happened before. 

It turns out that Dean isn’t the hero, or the martyr. He’s just a witness. A witness to the mind-boggling spectacle of capital-G _God_ and his friggin’ sister, talking over their difficult history and coming to an accord. If nothing else, it reminds him why he and Sam have always been able to get through the worst of their crap. Siblings, man. 

But when Amara turns to him and smiles, he still flinches slightly. He won’t ever be comfortable under her gaze, even if he doesn’t feel threatened by her any longer. 

“You’ve given me what I needed most,” she tells him, and he’s never heard her sound so-- human, he supposes. “I want to do the same for you.”

He’s about to protest, to wave away her offer-- after all, he’d really rather just go home and try to forget that this whole mess ever happened. But she’s a primordial force, and when she sets her mind to something, there’s no changing it. 

“I insist,” she says, her eyes wide as she considers him, less predatory than before but still somewhat alarming. Chuck doesn’t seem perturbed, at least, standing by her side, so small in comparison that Dean would laugh under other circumstances.

“I don’t need anything,” Dean says roughly. 

She arches an eyebrow at him, amused, and he flushes. Sure, there are things he wants: not having to worry about money ever again would be nice, for a start. Maybe she could heal all his aches and pains, the ones that never seem to go away, or she could give them some handy spells to keep the everyday monsters under control.

But those aren’t things that he _needs_. And they both know it.

A slow smile spreads across her face, and she steps forward. Chuck still watches benevolently, which is the only reason Dean doesn’t turn and run. After all they’ve been through, he doesn’t think Chuck would let Amara hurt him. 

She stretches out one hand towards him, and Dean closes his eyes. “Rest,” she says softly, and then everything goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s the first thing they see when they stumble back into the bunker, weary and heavy-hearted: Dean’s body, gruesomely stretched out along the map table in the centre of the room.

Sam, the first one into the bunker and thus the first one to notice his brother’s still form, stumbles on the stairs and nearly falls. Castiel catches him by the shoulder and steadies him, his angelic strength coming of use while his all-too-human heart shatters in his chest.

After that first shocked misstep, Sam thuds noisily down the rest of the stairs, dropping gracelessly to his knees in front of the table, grasping for his brother’s hand. Castiel follows him more slowly, a lump in his throat.

They knew, when they saw the sun returning to its full strength in the sky. They knew that Dean had succeeded. They knew that he had saved the world.

They knew that Dean was dead. 

But to see him like this, so small and silent, is a shock nevertheless. Castiel comes to stand beside Sam, but he shuts his eyes. He cannot bear to look at Dean, knowing how dim his body will appear without the bright light of his soul shining through him.

“He’s not dead,” Rowena says from behind them. Softer than usual. Sam doesn’t even appear to have heard her.

But Castiel does. He turns and frowns at her. “What are you talking about,” he asks. 

He isn’t even sure why they’re here, still, she and Crowley. Why they haven’t slunk off somewhere to cause mischief, set free by the sudden disappearance of not only Amara, but Chuck and Lucifer as well. 

“He’s not dead,” Rowena repeats, a hint of her usual acidity returning to her voice. “You’re all so bloody ready to see the tragedy in this world, aren’t you?” She gestures at Dean’s body. “Look again.”

So Castiel does. He forces himself to look at Dean’s body, and-- yes, somehow, Rowena is correct. Dean’s chest rises and falls ever so slightly as he breathes in and out. His soul is present, but muted, somehow. Castiel shakes his head in wonderment. 

“Sam,” he says, daring to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. “He’s alive.”

Sam’s head jerks violently to the side, but he doesn’t reply.

“Sam,” Castiel insists. “I swear to you. Look.”

Sam raises his head slowly, his eyes red-rimmed and full of sorrow. He stares at his brother for a minute, his jaw clenched, but then he notices the movement of Dean’s chest, and Castiel hears the hitch in his breath.

“Dean,” he whispers, clumsily rising to his feet, still holding his hand. It must be cold, Castiel thinks absently, or Sam would have realized before now that his brother was still with them.

Sam shakes him, gently at first, then more insistently. Dean doesn’t stir.

“What’s wrong with him,” Sam demands, turning to face the others. He looks very young, Castiel notes. Young and afraid, desperate to know that he isn’t yet alone in this world.

Crowley shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Sam looks at Castiel expectantly, but he spreads his hands before him in a helpless gesture. “A spell?” he guesses, wishing he had more to offer.

Rowena clears her throat loudly. “A spell indeed,” she states. She comes closer, her expression intrigued. 

Castiel watches her warily. She has helped them so far, yes, but he doesn’t trust her. Not with important things. Not with Dean.

“Can you fix it?” Sam asks, pleading. “Whatever it is.”

Rowena bends closer, holding a hand to Dean’s chest, feeling his heart beat under her palm. 

“Perhaps,” she replies absently. 

“That’s not good enough,” Crowley says, surprising all of them. 

“I don’t even know what’s wrong with him!” Rowena snaps. “If we make the wrong move, we could only make things worse for him. Patience, Fergus.”

She has a point, Castiel supposes. Dean is alive, somehow, and he would like for him to remain that way. 

He steps forward and presses his hand to Dean’s forehead. It’s only slightly warm, cooler than it would normally be. He can feel Dean’s internal organs working, his heart pumping blood through his veins, his lungs filtering the air he breathes. But it isn’t right.

He shakes his head. “It’s like he’s sleeping,” he announces. “An enchanted sleep.”

Sam’s eyebrows practically crawl into his hairline. “Like Sleeping Beauty,” he says skeptically. “Oh, Dean’ll love that.”

“I fear the solution won’t be as simple as true love’s kiss.” Rowena is still performing tests of her own, touching Dean’s body more than Castiel is comfortable with, but she keeps it professional, even clinical. Since she does have more experience with this type of spellwork, he allows it. 

“What’s this,” Crowley murmurs, plucking something out of Dean’s other hand, which is tightly clenched, as though braced for a blow. 

Castiel watches as Crowley holds up a small, faintly yellowed piece of paper. “A note?” he asks. “From Dean?”

Crowley shakes his head as he reads the note in silence, then passes it to Castiel. _Thank you_ , it says simply. Below that one line is a quick sketch of the Mark of Cain, and a scribble that, if Castiel squints, he supposes might read ‘Chuck.’ 

“I don’t understand,” Sam says, his face scrunched up in confusion as he reads over Castiel’s shoulder. “Thank you for what? And why is it signed from both of them? I thought the soul-bomb destroyed Amara, and that’s why the sun came back.”

“Unless--” Castiel hesitates. He doesn’t wish to speculate too wildly, to get caught up in theories. They need facts, so they can determine exactly how to bring Dean back to them. 

“What,” Sam says eagerly. “Cas, what is it?”

He can’t refuse Sam. Not like this. “The universe is still balanced,” he says. “Maybe they found another way.”

“And sent Dean back to us.” A light appears in Sam’s eyes, a rekindled hope. “But why won’t he wake up?”

Rowena sighs heavily. “I think I know.”

Her tone does not sound encouraging. Castiel looks at her expectantly. 

“It is like Sleeping Beauty,” she continues, her lip curling slightly. “He’s in a state of rest, so to speak. The body is living, but the spirit is absent.”

“Absent,” Sam repeats. “Where is it?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Castiel says, more harshly than he intended. “How do we get it back?”

_How do we get him back_ is the real question. Castiel is not prepared to live in this world without Dean. He wasn’t prepared when they said goodbye in that cemetery, and now that they’ve saved the world, again, it needs Dean Winchester in it, living and breathing and laughing and teasing Castiel about his crappy car. 

He needs Dean back.

“I don’t know the exact spell that was used, but I can guess it was Amara,” Rowena says thoughtfully. “The magic feels like her, somehow.”

“Dark?” Sam asks, frowning. 

Rowena shakes her head. “No, but calm. Empty. Still. The absence of creation. That’s what we have here,” she says, indicating Dean’s body. “It feels restful, in its own way.”

Sam and Castiel exchange troubled glances. “So you’re saying this is a good thing,” Sam says.

“I highly doubt I’m the one who should be judging what’s good and what’s evil,” Rowena replies. “But I think it was done with good intentions, yes. This was a reward, not a punishment.”

“It’s not a reward for us,” Castiel says quietly. Perhaps Rowena is right. Perhaps Dean is resting, unburdened for once. Away from the weight of the world, the problems he carries on his shoulders. 

But he never wanted that for himself, not really. At least not for long. Just long enough to recharge, to review his priorities. He remembers Dean telling him, all those years ago: “I just need like, four hours.” Just enough to keep going. 

“So how do we get him back?” Sam asks again, and Castiel is grateful for it. Sam is the one who Dean would want making these decisions for him. If Sam thinks they should wake Dean up, then that’s what they’ll do.

“We need to guide his spirit back to his body,” Rowena says. “Remind him that they’re one.”

“Could you be more cryptic, Mother,” Crowley mutters under his breath. Judging by the glare Rowena directs at him, she hears him.

“It’s simply enough in theory,” she continues. “We’ll need...tokens, so to speak. To coax him back. Things that remind him of his life, his memories, his experiences. Seven would be best. It’s a powerful magical number.”

Castiel begins to grasp the theory behind the spell. “Positive memories,” he says. “We want to remind him what’s important. And then he will be drawn back.”

“Exactly,” Rowena nods. 

“Great,” Sam says with a firm nod. “I’m sure we can round up seven things from here.” He starts to walk away, heading for the hallway, and presumably, Dean’s bedroom.

Castiel moves to follow him, but they’re halted by Rowena’s voice. “Stop,” she tells them wearily. “Always dashing about, no attention span. It doesn’t matter if you gather the tokens now. The spell to bring him back can only be cast on a full moon.”

Castiel calculates the lunar cycle in his mind, and his shoulders slump. It will be three weeks before the next full moon. 

Sam must come to the same conclusion. “There’s nothing we can do until then?”

Rowena shakes her head. “I’m afraid not,” she tells them. “You may as well use the time to broaden your scope outside this bunker. Remember, you have to make him want to come back, and then guide him along the way. I think you can do better than the mug he uses every morning.”

It makes sense. The bunker may be Winchester home base for now, but it hasn’t always been. Dean lived a full life before they stumbled upon it. If they want this spell to work, they need to be smart about it.

Dean is worth it.

Castiel sighs and looks over at Sam, who looks disappointed. He knows that the younger Winchester wants his brother back, never wanted him to leave in the first place, but he hopes he can convince Sam that they need to be patient this time.

“He’s not hurt,” he tells him gently. “He isn’t suffering.”

Sam stiffens, and he doesn’t say anything, but Castiel can read his reply in the set of his shoulders: _but we are_. And it’s true, Dean’s absence hurts them both, but they can bear it. They have to.

Castiel understands that three weeks is very different to a human than it is to an angel. For Sam, it will feel like an eternity, but for Castiel, it’s a mere blink. Sam will need to keep busy, to feel like he’s actively working towards bringing Dean back. He’ll crumble if he’s asked to sit still and wait patiently for the next full moon.

“So, what do we do?” Sam asks.

“We collect the tokens,” Castiel tells him firmly. “Seven items to bring Dean back to us. It may require a fair bit of driving.”

Sam blinks at him. Then he nods. “I have a few ideas,” he says. But then he glances over at Dean, still on the table, and his face falls again. “But we can’t just leave him here.”

Castiel hadn’t considered that. If he and Sam go off in search of the objects required for the spell, who will watch over Dean while they’re gone?

“I’ll stay,” Crowley says unexpectedly. 

Castiel and Sam both turn to look at him. Sam looks puzzled, but Castiel isn’t. Crowley has nothing now. Hell is unlikely to accept him as its ruler ever again, and regular crossroads deals must have lost their appeal years ago. Crowley needs a purpose, just like every other being on earth, or above it, or below.

And he’s always been more fond of Dean than he would admit. Or than Dean would acknowledge. Even after they turned Dean from demon back to human.

Castiel stares at him, the threat evident. If Crowley lets anything happen to Dean, Castiel will smite him. Immediately, and without regret. Crowley dips his head almost imperceptibly, acknowledging Castiel’s unspoken statement. It seems they have an understanding.

“Are you sure about this,” Sam says quietly. “Cas, are you sure?”

Castiel is still looking at the former King of Hell, whose own gaze has softened as he looks at Dean. They don’t have to like Crowley, but yes, Castiel is sure. He won’t let Dean come to any harm.

“Yes,” he tells Sam. “But if you’re still concerned, we can ask others to check in, from time to time.”

Sam lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh yeah? Like who? Most of our friends are dead, Cas.”

It’s true that the Winchesters have experienced more loss in their relatively short lives than most people do in an entire lifetime, but Sam is wrong.

“Jody, Donna, Alex and Claire,” Castiel lists off. “Other hunters you’ve met recently-- Jesse, Cesar, Eileen.”

He notes the way Sam flushes slightly at the last name, and Castiel smiles. “You’re not as alone as you think, Sam.”

Sam clears his throat. “Well, we’re not leaving him here,” he says. “He would be so pissed.”

And yes, Castiel can imagine it, Dean waking up, complaining about the ache in his back from being left on a hard table for three weeks, asking why they left him there when he had a perfectly good memory foam mattress sitting unused in his bedroom. So he and Sam carry Dean down the hall and lay him gently on his bed. Sam removes his heavy boots, placing them tidily at the end of the bed, and they drape a light blanket over him.

“Well, this is all very sweet, but I think it’s time I go,” Rowena says from the doorway, and Castiel tenses.

“Oh, no,” Sam tells her. “You’re staying here. We need you to perform the spell to bring Dean back.”

“In three weeks,” she says. “I refuse to stay in this place for that long.”

“And we’re just supposed to trust that you’ll come back when it’s time?” Sam smiles humorlessly. “Sorry, but I don’t buy it.”

Rowena rolls her eyes at him. “Aye, I’ll be back,” she says. “You remember that whole conversation about balance? Why the world needs both the light and the dark? Magic is about balance too, giant. He--” she points at Dean’s quiet figure-- “saved the world. Saved me, saved all of us. I don’t have to like you, but I do owe him a debt. I’ll come back in time for your spell.”

Castiel looks to Crowley for confirmation, and he nods. Sam, watching them, lets out a resigned breath. “Fine. But if you don’t--”

Rowena flaps a dismissive hand at him. “Witch-killing bullets, my name on them, yes, I understand.” And then with a sweep of her gown, she’s gone.

Crowley settles into the chair beside the bed, looking content to sit there with nothing to entertain him.

“You’re just going to hang out here, then?” Sam confirms.

“It’s as good a place to plot my return to power as any,” Crowley says.

Sam looks at Castiel, who shrugs. Then he leans in and squeezes Dean’s hand. “We’re going to get you back,” he says softly. “I promise, Dean.”

Castiel watches, and wishes he were brave enough to say something similar. But he’s only spoken his true feelings to Dean a few times, and even then, only in times of crisis-- _I’ll just wait here, then. I did it, all of it, for you. I could go with you._ He isn’t ready to say such things in front of Crowley and Sam, so he just takes one last, lingering look at Dean, the sweep of his eyelashes against his freckled cheek, and says nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

They’ll start in Lawrence.

It’s only appropriate, as Sam points out. It’s where Dean was born, where their family’s long and painful story began. Castiel considers pointing out that the story actually began much farther back, and further away, but he understands what Sam means, so he doesn’t argue. It’s something he’s learning to be better about, not to bother correcting the limited human perspective. 

He thinks Dean would be proud of him for that.

He does convince Sam to wait until morning, at least. It’s only a three-and-a-half hour drive from the bunker to Lawrence, and Sam needs to sleep. It’s best if he does so now. There may be times further down the line when it becomes a luxury they can no longer afford. Castiel wishes he still had the ability to travel across the country with a flap of his wings. It would make collecting the tokens far simpler. But driving to collect them has a level of significance that will strengthen the spellcasting. 

The harder something magical is to accomplish, the more powerful the result. 

So after Sam has gone to bed, he joins Crowley in Dean’s room, hovering in the doorway. Crowley glances up at him and rolls his eyes. “You can come in, you know.”

Castiel hesitates. If he does, he might be expected to talk. And he doesn’t want that tonight. 

“Oh, fine.” Crowley stands and sighs dramatically. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit, hmn?”

As he passes Castiel on his way out the door, he stops, as though he’s about to say something else, but then shakes his head and mutters something Castiel can’t quite make out before disappearing down the hall.

Once he’s certain that Crowley is gone, Castiel drags the chair closer to the bed and sits, propping his chin on his hand as he watches Dean’s chest rise and fall. He looks peaceful. But he can tell it’s no ordinary sleep, because he can’t monitor Dean’s dreams, or access them, the way he would normally be able to. His soul is there, but it’s muted, its light dimmed by whatever spell Amara cast upon him.

Castiel misses it. He misses Dean. 

He wonders idly if he’ll tell Dean about this when he wakes up. What Dean will say when he hears Castiel has been watching him sleep, _again_. If he’ll roll his eyes, or make a dismissive remark, or if he’ll flush faintly from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and stumble over his words. He’s learned to predict some of Dean’s reactions over the years, but he can still be surprised by others. He enjoys it, really, the wide range of emotions Dean displays with regards to him. 

But Dean shows nothing to him now. His face is smooth and blank, and as much as Castiel likes to see the weariness disappear from around his eyes, it unsettles him nevertheless. Dean is so _animated_. Everything that he does, everything that he says. This stillness does not become him.

Castiel clears his throat. “Hello, Dean,” he begins, feeling slightly foolish. He presses on regardless. He may not get many more opportunities to speak to Dean alone. And even if Dean can’t hear him, there are things that Castiel needs to say.

“I’m not thrilled with this turn of events,” he continues. He thinks that would make Dean laugh. “But you’re alive, and that’s more than we expected. More than we hoped for. I hope that whatever Amara did to you is indeed beneficial. That this isn’t hurting you in ways we cannot sense. I would be distressed, to put it mildly, if that were the case.”

He reaches out, but instead of grasping Dean’s hand as Sam had, he lays his own hand gently on Dean’s shoulder. The same shoulder that once bore his handprint. He can only feel a slight warmth from Dean’s skin through the layers of cloth, but it’s enough to reassure him. To comfort him.

“We’re working on a way to bring you back. It’s a joint effort. But it means that Sam and I will be on the road quite a bit, rather than here with you. I hope you’ll understand that. I know that were one of us in your position, you would hate to leave us this way. And I think it will be difficult for us as well. But I would rather spend days or even weeks apart from you now, rather than face the rest of my existence without you.”

He stops, suddenly glad that Dean can’t hear him. He would surely turn away from such boldly-declared sentiment. Or laugh it off. 

“I’ll watch over you tonight,” he promises. “And every other night that I can. Sleep well, Dean.”

He removes his hand and sits back in the chair, maintaining his vigil for the rest of the night.

***

Crowley knocks lightly on the frame of the door in the morning, and Castiel rouses himself from the light doze he’d fallen into. He doesn’t need to sleep, now that he has his own Grace back, but he finds that rest is beneficial to both his body and his mind.

“Is it time to go?” he asks, and Crowley nods in reply.

Castiel stands, and adjusts the blanket over Dean’s torso. He takes advantage of the fact that his own body blocks Crowley’s view, and turns his movement into a gentle caress, his fingers trailing lightly down Dean’s arm. “Farewell,” he whispers.

“You’d better not muck this up,” Crowley tells him, his tone sharp, but Castiel can hear the pleading beneath it. 

“We won’t.” Castiel watches as Crowley settles into the chair he recently vacated, and then leaves the room in search of Sam.

He finds him in the kitchen, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a banana in the other. “Morning,” Sam says, draining the last of his coffee. 

“Good morning,” Castiel says, his voice muffled as he retrieves a mug of his own from the cupboard. “I can be ready to leave shortly.”

Sam claps him on the back. “Good.”

Castiel wonders if all their conversations will be like this now: brief, perfunctory. He hopes not. He cares deeply about Sam, certainly not in the same way he cares for Dean, but still. They’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few weeks. 

“Is there anything we need to bring from here?” he asks.

Sam shakes his head. “No, it’s a pretty simple plan: get to Lawrence, go to the old house, find something small and portable enough to bring back here.”

“Alright.” Castiel doesn’t know what they will find that fits that description and will also be meaningful enough to suit their purpose, but Sam seems confident. And Sam, after all, knows more about this period in Dean’s life than Castiel does, even if it’s still only reconstructed from stories he’s heard over the years. 

He finishes his coffee, and then he and Sam head for the garage. Sam has the keys to the Impala in his hands, but he hesitates, one hand on the car’s shiny surface. “Maybe we should take another car.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side. “Why?”

“It feels strange, driving her without him,” Sam says quietly. 

Of course, most of the other times Sam has driven the Impala without Dean, or without being on his way to Dean, Dean was dead. Or absent in a more than temporary way. Castiel watches the flicker of emotions on Sam’s face and struggles to find the right thing to say to him.

“I think he would be pleased to know she helped bring him back to us,” he tells Sam honestly. 

It works, because a small smile stretches across Sam’s face. “Yeah,” he says, his hand rubbing over the car’s hood in an unconscious gesture. Affection, appreciation. “You’re right.”

There’s no question that Sam will drive, though. Castiel smiles to himself as he climbs into the passenger seat. Perhaps, if they take any longer trips, they will trade places at some point. 

They drive in silence at first. It’s not uncomfortable, but Castiel keeps sneaking glances over at Sam, who keeps his own eyes determinedly on the road. He probably doesn’t want to look over and be reminded that there’s someone other than Dean beside him. 

After about an hour, Sam speaks up. “You can put some music on, if you want.”

“I thought the driver picked the music,” Castiel is startled into replying. 

Sam laughs shortly. “Yeah, well, I always thought that was a dumb rule.”

“With good reason,” Castiel murmurs as he investigates the box of cassettes beneath the seat. He recognizes most of them, partially from the pop-culture download that Metatron forced on him, but mostly from Dean’s frequent references to them. But buried at the bottom of the box are others that aren’t as familiar-- ones without proper artwork, just lined pages folded into the plastic cases.

He holds one up, and Sam looks at it out of the corner of his eye. “Those are my old mixes,” he says, sounding surprised. 

“These are yours?” Castiel assumed they were Dean’s. Of the two brothers, he’s always been the more vocal about his musical tastes.

Sam nods. “I used to record songs off the radio whenever we were holed up in some motel. I had a beat-up old Walkman for awhile I would play them on. Actually, I think it’s the one Dean turned into an EMF meter. I thought he or Dad got rid of those tapes a long time ago. After I left.”

Castiel rubs his fingers over the smooth plastic case. “It would appear not.”

He puts the tape in, and lets the music wash over him. It’s quieter than most of what Dean chooses, more melodic. Castiel can picture a young Sam waiting eagerly to hear this song, hitting record at just right the moment, maybe with Dean’s help. The thought makes him smile.

They listen to the tape in quiet appreciation all the way to Lawrence.

Castiel watches with growing interest as they drive through the outskirts of town. There’s nothing particularly remarkable about Lawrence, at least not to the unsuspecting eye. But it’s an important chapter in the story of Dean’s life, and that makes it special to Castiel.

They pull up in front of the house, and Sam puts the Impala in park. He rifles through the notes they made before leaving the bunker. “So, it looks like the house has changed hands a couple of times again since we were last here,” he notes. “It’s owned by the Stilton family these days.” 

“Did your research give any indication of how they might react to two strange men asking for entrance to their home?” It’s easier when they have a case, an actual reason to disrupt people’s lives. It gives them an air of authority that people naturally respond to. Castiel isn’t sure that they can summon it to assist them now.

Sam peers at the house. There are no cars in the driveway, and the curtains in the windows are drawn. “It’s two women and a seven-year old boy,” he says. “They’re probably at work and school. I think we could get in.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, a young woman pushing a stroller jogs past them on the sidewalk. She glances curiously at the car as she passes, and once more over her shoulder from further down the block. 

Castiel shakes his head. “Someone will notice.” It’s a nice neighbourhood. Quiet, comfortable. Everyone likely knows everyone else. They don’t want any trouble on these missions. They just need to get what they came for, and get out. 

Sam purses his lips, looking at the house. “I don’t remember it.” His voice is quiet. “From the case we worked here years ago, yeah, but not from when we lived here. But Dean does, a bit. I think this is the right place to start, so we have to find a way to make this work.”

“Perhaps we should start with the what, then, instead of the how,” Castiel suggests. It’s an old battle strategy tactic. If you have an objective, it’s easier to construct a plan for success around it. In that way, it’s the similar to the method the Winchesters use when they have a case: figure out what the thing is first. 

Sam looks over at him and nods. “A lot of the house was rebuilt after the fire. I’m not sure exactly what’s original and what isn’t. I don’t want to take that chance.”

Dean never talks much about his childhood, at least not to Castiel. He’s never heard much about this home, the first four years of Dean’s life that he spent here. 

“Something from the foundation, perhaps?” he suggests. It speaks of strength, of steadiness, of shelter. All good things to build a spell around.

“That could work.” Sam sounds distant. He’s obviously thinking about something else, so Castiel waits patiently. He’ll tell him when he’s ready.

“What about the tree?” Sam says eventually. He sounds like he’s still unsure of the idea himself. “When we came back here for that case, I saw the tree in one of my, uh, visions. It’s how we recognized the house, really.”

Castiel twists in his seat to get a better look at it. It’s an old tree. It’s been here for at least as long as Dean has been alive. Maybe he played under it as a child. Castiel smiles at the thought, a small and carefree Dean running around this yard, no thoughts of monsters or destiny or the end of the world. A symbol of a happier time, but also of the strength that it takes to endure tragedies and continue to grow.

“Yes,” he says. “I think that will do nicely.”

“And, bonus, we don’t even have to break into the house,” Sam adds. 

Castiel imagines there will be plenty of breaking and entering on other retrieval missions, so he’s relieved to avoid it this time around as well. 

It’s almost laughable, how easy it is. Sam steps out of the car, his phone pressed to his ear, pretending to have an animated conversation with someone on the other end. He paces back and forth on the sidewalk as he talks, and one of the branches smacks lightly against his head. The downsides of his height. He reaches up as though pushing it aside, and quickly breaks it off, secreting it in his pocket. Then he delivers a fake farewell, lowers his phone, and gets back into the car.

He pulls the branch out of his pocket and offers it to Castiel. “Think that’ll work?”

Castiel takes it from him, careful not to damage it further. “Yes, it will work. This will speak of many things that will call Dean back to us, I’m sure of it.”

“Does the difficulty matter?” Sam asks. “This was easy, wasn’t it? What if it didn’t cost us enough, and it doesn’t work?”

Castiel’s heart aches with the knowledge that the life Sam has led has given rise to the belief that all magic must come a cost, and that the cost is always a terrible one. There is always a price, because, as Rowena pointed out, magic is about balance. But it doesn’t have to be one of blood and pain.

“It’s more about intensity than difficulty,” he says, struggling to explain. “So much of what you know of magic is...dark, for lack of a better term. A spell cast with nefarious intent will require great sacrifice to undo, yes. But as far as we know, Amara intended no harm to Dean when she placed him under this enchanted sleep. We don’t need to offer our own pain and struggle to counter it.”

Sam still looks doubtful. “I hope you’re right,” he says.

Castiel looks away as Sam turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life. “I hope so too.”

He cradles the branch tenderly against his chest as they make their way back to the bunker. Sam still isn’t saying much. It’s a bit unsettling. But Castiel has no desire to intrude on his thoughts, so he stays quiet as well. 

When they’re halfway back to Lebanon, Sam breaks the silence. “I’m not used to this,” he admits, drumming his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. “Whenever Dean and I get separated, it’s always this big, dramatic thing, you know?”

Yes, Castiel does know. He’s witnessed enough of their separations and reunions to be well-aware how different this scenario is.

“Either I wouldn’t know where he was, or how to get him back,” Sam continues, “or even if I did, it was always this desperate race to do it. It’s like so much of our lives has been blown out of proportion. I have to keep telling myself that it’s okay, that Dean isn’t hurt, that we know how to get him back, but that it will just take time.”

They’re men of action, the Winchesters. It stands to reason that Sam would have difficulty with the drawn-out nature of this quest of theirs. 

“It’s only the first day,” Castiel says. “I’m afraid this may be a test of your patience, Sam.”

Sam gives him a look that Castiel is fairly certain Dean would term “bitch-face.” “All I’m saying is, I don’t know how to handle this. But I’m glad to not be doing this alone.”

That was not at all what Castiel had been expecting Sam to say. It warms him, the knowledge that his company is appreciated. That it is valued. That _he_ is valued. Not long before Dean took those souls into his body, he told Castiel that. But it’s different, to hear it from Sam. Their history is different. 

“Thank you,” he says, knowing it’s an inadequate response but unable to think of anything better. “I just want to help.”

Sam takes his eyes off the road for a second and gives Castiel a brief smile. “I know, Cas.”

They both go quiet again, but the silence is more comfortable after that. 

When they arrive at the bunker, Castiel offers the branch back to Sam. “We should keep it somewhere safe.”

Sam takes it from him and carries it into the kitchen, searching around for something to place it in. Castiel reaches into the small box of recyclables beside the refrigerator and finds an empty beer bottle, and passes it wordlessly to Sam. It’s Dean’s favourite brand.

Sam chuckles. “He’d get a kick out of that,” he says, and Castiel nods in agreement. “Good idea.”

So they put a piece of the tree that grows outside Dean’s childhood home in an empty beer bottle and leave it on the kitchen counter. They won’t need it for some time. And for now, it will serve as a reminder that they’re on their way, that they are taking the necessary steps to bring Dean back to them.

They go down the hallway to Dean’s bedroom together, and Crowley looks up as they enter. “You’re back soon,” he comments. “Your trip was a success, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Sam says absently, leaning over to check on Dean’s breathing. “Any changes?”

“None,” Crowley replies. “You know, this is going to take a long time. There is another option.”

Sam looks up at him, confused, but Castiel immediately grasps what Crowley is suggesting. “No,” he practically growls.

Sam looks between the two of them, registers how Castiel’s stance has suddenly gone defensive, and frowns at Crowley. “What are you talking about? And why are you only bringing this up now?”

“I knew you would react like that,” Crowley answers, gesturing towards Castiel. “You’re not desperate enough yet, I see.”

“Desperate enough for what,” Sam says tightly. 

“Possession,” Castiel tells him. “Crowley wants to possess Dean in order to bring him back. Much like he did when you were also housing Gadreel within you.”

Sam twitches at the mention of that time, and Castiel regrets using it as an example, but it makes his point for him. “No,” Sam says firmly. “Dean wouldn’t want that.”

“He was fine with it for you,” Crowley points out. 

“That was a last resort, under far more stressful circumstances,” Castiel says. “We didn’t have any other options. We do now.”

Crowley’s face tightens. “You trust me enough to watch over him your absence, but not for this?”

Sam and Castiel exchange exasperated looks. “It’s not about trust,” Sam replies. “It’s about what Dean would want. And besides, we don’t even know where Dean is, really. Not like when I was just being suppressed by Gadreel. There’s no guarantee you would be able to reach him, and it might even make things worse.”

“And you think he’ll be pleased to know that you didn’t try everything in your power to get him back sooner, when he does wake up? Hmn?” Crowley sounds almost like he’s trying to convince himself, not just them. 

Castiel understands him perfectly. He’s only doing what Castiel would: offering his assistance in any way that he can. He is a demon, after all. Possession is their answer to just about every problem. And he’s being surprisingly polite about it-- as he’s pointed out in the past, unlike angels, demons don’t have to ask permission. He could have tried this on his own, but he hasn’t. He’s letting Sam and Castiel make that decision on Dean’s behalf. It speaks of respect not only for Dean, but for them as well. And strangely enough, it’s that restraint that fully assures Castiel that they were right to trust him to help watch over Dean. 

“I appreciate your offer to help,” Castiel tells him, more gently now that he’s puzzled out Crowley’s motivation. “But seeing as Dean is not suffering, I do not think there is cause for such an extreme option, not when we’ve already started the process for Rowena’s spell.”

Sam nods from across the room. “You’re helping enough as it is,” he says, and Castiel thinks he’s seen past Crowley’s bluster as well. 

Crowley sniffs dismissively. “Fine, then,” he says. “Do it Mother’s way. She’ll never let you live it down, you know. She’ll spend the rest of her unnaturally long life asking you for favours and reminding you of the time she helped you bring Dean back.”

“I think that’s something we’re willing to live with,” Sam says. “Besides, I think she’s starting to like us.”

Crowley rolls his eyes at that. “Don’t be fooled,” he mutters darkly. “The most you can hope from her is that she’s not actively working against you.”

Sam shakes his hair out of his face. “At this point, that’s good enough for me.”

Castiel nods his agreement. “We’ll be forever grateful to her, as long as this works.”

They all fall silent as they ponder what will happen if Rowena’s spell fails. It’s an unpleasant train of thought-- either they will have to resort to more drastic means, like Crowley’s suggestion of possession, or they will lose Dean forever.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean is in the bunker’s kitchen, humming to himself as he searches the cabinets for dried oregano. He’s making spaghetti, the tomato sauce simmering on the stove. It smells fantastic. He finds what he’s looking for buried at the back of the cupboard and smiles to himself as he pulls the jar out, not even bothering to measure it as he shakes it into the pot of sauce. It’s automatic now. 

He turns the burner down a notch. The sauce needs to cook for half an hour or so before he puts the water for the pasta on to boil. He stacks the dishes neatly in the sink, shaking his head at his own thoughtfulness. He cooks, Sam does the dishes. That’s the deal. 

He doesn’t need to hover over the sauce the whole time, so he grabs the bottle of red wine that Jody left behind the last time she visited and wanders into the library. As expected, Sam and Cas are perched in two of the chairs, both of their noses buried in their books. Dean smiles at the sight of them. Nerds.

“Hey,” he says, drawing their attention. “Sauce is on. I brought wine.” He holds up the bottle, and is gratified to see Castiel’s eyes light up. He likes wine better than beer, the weirdo. Dean has to admit, it isn’t as bad he always thought it was. And there’s something about sharing a bottle of it that appeals to him, that speaks of family and togetherness in a way that splitting a six-pack doesn’t. 

Sam grabs three wine glasses from the cabinet in the corner, because the Men of Letters knew how to mix business with pleasure, and Dean pours for each of them. He raises his glass in a silent toast, and they make brief eye contact over the tops of their glasses. He watches the long lines of Castiel’s throat as he swallows, and when he tips the glass back down, there’s a stray drop of wine on his lower lip. His tongue darts out to catch it, and Dean shivers.

“Whatcha reading,” he asks, desperately searching for a distraction from the way the wine has already left a slight stain on Castiel’s lips.

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” Sam says, holding up the book so Dean can see the title. _The Origin and Evolution of Mer-Creatures_.

“Hey, I saw The Little Mermaid,” Dean says. 

“From what I understand, the Disney version had little to do with the original story, and likely even less in common with the actual creatures,” Castiel comments.

Dean shoots him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, well, the songs are catchy as hell,” he mutters.

A small smile hovers on Castiel’s lips and he takes another sip of his wine. Dean watches, entranced, but then tears his gaze away. He has to learn to control himself.

He catches Sam looking at him quizzically and feels his own cheeks go hot. But Sam doesn’t say anything, just gives him this unreadable look, and turns back to his book.

“I’m gonna go stir the sauce,” Dean mumbles, and flees. 

“Stupid,” he says under his breath as he removes the lid from the pot of sauce and gives it a stir, careful not to get too aggressive and risk splattering it all over the floor. “Stupid, stupid Dean.”

“Why are you stupid?” Castiel asks from behind him, and Dean jumps, startled. The spoon in his hand clatters to the floor, and Castiel bends gracefully to pick it up. He considers it for a moment, then rinses it off in the sink and hands it back to Dean, who takes it without a word and continues stirring. 

“Why are you stupid?” Castiel asks again, and damn it, Dean had been hoping that his clumsiness would be enough of a distraction to put an end to Castiel’s questioning. But he should know better by now. Cas is not easily deterred.

He sighs and leans back against the counter. “Oh, put too much garlic in the sauce,” he lies.

“You always say there’s no such thing as too much garlic.” Of course Castiel sees right through him. He always does. “Dean, tell me what’s wrong.”

Wordlessly, Dean reaches for the wine that he brought with him into the kitchen, taking a bigger gulp than is probably polite. But Castiel doesn’t care. He’s seen Dean do far worse. And he’s still here.

And that right there: that’s the problem. He’s still here. 

It was easier in some ways when Cas would leave all the time, popping in and out of their lives, always there at the big showdowns but scarcely seen in between. But ever since they defeated the Darkness and sent Lucifer back to the Cage, he’s just...stayed.

And don’t get him wrong, Dean likes it. Loves it, even. But when Cas is here, looking at him with those bright blue eyes, his mouth soft and inviting, it becomes harder and harder to remember why Dean can’t kiss him the way he wants to so desperately.

It happened the second night after the big battle went down. The first, they were all so exhausted that they just crawled into their beds without even talking about it. But then after a day of sleeping in and indulging in food that was unhealthy even by their standards, they found themselves sprawled on the couch in the lounge, watching nature documentaries, of all things. 

In the middle of a segment about birds-of-paradise and their intricate courtship displays, Castiel let out what could only be termed a wistful sigh. Dean twisted in his seat to look at him. “What?” he said. “Missing your wings?”

Castiel hesitated, then shook his head. “No, it’s not that,” he said softly. 

“Come on, tell me.” Sam had gone to bed about half an hour before, leaving Dean and Castiel alone. 

Castiel licked his lips unconsciously, and Dean shivered at the sight. “It’s beautiful, how so many species have evolved to find and secure love,” Castiel said quietly. “Even after centuries of it, I never get tired of watching it. Just...watching.”

Dean tried to prompt him to continue talking, but Castiel refused, insisting that they focus on the program. 

So yeah, Dean’s pretty sure that Castiel admires romance, finds it fascinating, but has no desire to seek it for himself. He spoke about the birds and their courting rituals like someone might talk about an old portrait of someone you never knew: impressive, but not the kind of thing you want to keep for yourself. Not the kind of thing you feel a connection to.

And that was all it took to dash Dean’s dreams of a romantic future for the two of them. But Castiel stayed anyways. So Dean’s having a bit of trouble adjusting his expectations. All he’s ever wanted is for Cas to stay. But he always hoped it would be different than this, somehow.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, will you talk to Sam?” Castiel asks now, reaching out tentatively to touch Dean’s elbow. 

His concern is bittersweet, and Dean chokes back a laugh that might be more of a sob. “God, no,” he says. No way he’s going to spill his feelings all over his brother. Besides, he’s pretty sure Sam already knows. 

“How can I fix this?” Cas is so close now. “Dean, please. I thought...things were going so well.” He hesitates, looking down at the ground. “Did I do something wrong?” His voice is so small.

“God, no,” Dean says hurriedly. “No, Cas, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what is it?” He sounds frustrated now. Dean can’t blame him. “I don’t understand you, Dean Winchester. I know you don’t want me the way I want you, but we’re still friends, aren’t we? Afford me that much respect, at least, and be honest with me.”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat. He stares at Cas, replaying his words in his mind. _The way I want you_. Is he saying…

“Dean?” There’s a small frown on Cas’ face now. 

Dean licks his lips. “You said, uh, you wanted me.” He can’t look Castiel in the eye, too afraid he’ll find only pity there. “What did you mean, precisely?”

He feels a light touch on his cheek, turning his face back towards Castiel. “I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable,” Cas says, dropping his hand but holding Dean’s gaze. “But Dean, surely you know that I feel more than friendship towards you.”

No. No, Dean does not know that. Or he didn’t. Whatever. He just stares at Castiel, who’s biting his lip, as though he fears what Dean will say next.

“But I thought...I thought you didn’t feel that way about anyone,” Dean says helplessly. “That you couldn’t. Angel wiring, or whatever.”

Castiel shrugs, just a small movement. “I don’t know about all other angels, but I know myself.”

“And you...you think I don’t feel the same way?” Dean can barely believe this. He thought all along that he was the one whose feelings were unrequited, and here it turns out that Cas was thinking the same thing. _Probably should have had this conversation a long time ago_ , he thinks ruefully. 

“It’s alright,” Castiel tells him with a little grimace. “I just want you to be happy, Dean.”

He is happy, though. He can feel it bubbling up in his chest, running through his veins like champagne, golden and effervescent. 

“You know what would make me happy, Cas?” he murmurs.

Cas shakes his head, eyes still locked on Dean’s.

Dean closes the gap between them and kisses him. Just the slightest brush of his lips, just enough to make his intentions known. 

Castiel gasps, his eyes widening. “Dean,” he whispers. “You…”

“Yeah, Cas.” He can’t help it. He beams at him, not even caring how silly he must look. “Yeah.”

Cas grabs his face between both of his hands and practically smashes their lips together, only softening at the last moment. Dean laughs into it, but quickly stops as the kiss intensifies. He grabs the edge of the counter with one hand to keep himself steady. He’s unbalanced, uncoordinated, all his practiced moves undone. 

It’s still the best kiss Dean has ever had. By far.

He pulls away long enough to catch his breath, but Castiel refuses to let go of him, still dropping affectionate little kisses on his cheeks, his nose. He presses his lips tenderly to Dean’s forehead and Dean swears his heart skips a beat. There’s so much feeling in that one gesture, he thinks he might faint from it.

“We are so dumb,” he says, burying his head in the crook of Castiel’s gloriously wide shoulders. He rubs his face into the soft material of the t-shirts they’ve finally convinced Cas to start wearing. For his own comfort, of course, and not because of how perfectly they show off his figure in ways the old suit and trenchcoat combination never did.

“Mmn,” Castiel agrees. “It doesn’t matter now.”

No, Dean supposes, it doesn’t. He gives Castiel one more quick kiss and turns back to stir his neglected sauce. Castiel presses in close behind him, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Oh, you’re a clingy one,” Dean says. He’s quite pleased about this discovery. Castiel feels wonderful around him, strong and secure. 

“Indeed,” Castiel rumbles, right into his ear. It reverberates through Dean’s entire body, making him shudder, but in a good way. “I find myself not wanting to let go of you. Not now, and not for a long time to come.”

“I’m good with that,” Dean tells him. 

That’s how Sam finds them when he wanders into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, carrying the half-empty bottle of wine and his own glass. He raises his eyebrows at the sight of them. “I hope you still found time to make dinner,” is his only comment.

“Shut up and pour the rest of the wine,” Dean says. 

Sam smirks but does as he’s told. 

Castiel finally lets go of Dean so they can sit down to eat, but he twines their ankles together under the table, giving Dean an innocent look when he flinches at the unexpected contact. Dean bites back a laugh and shakes his head at him fondly. Troublemaker. He’s going to have to be on his guard from now on. 

The tension between them builds all the way through their meal, and when Dean pushes back his chair and rises, Castiel follows him so quickly that he knocks his own chair over. Sam just rolls his eyes and picks it up.

“Go,” he says, his voice laced with the particular weariness of a long-suffering witness to their obliviousness about each other’s feelings. “It’s my job to clean up anyways, isn’t it?”

Dean is incredibly thankful that they made that deal right now. “Yes it is,” he says smugly. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam fakes a scowl, but Dean can see the twinkle in his eyes. He knows his brother is happy for them. 

He and Cas stumble down the hallway towards Dean’s room. It takes him awhile to notice that they’re going the wrong way, he’s so distracted by the way Cas is running his hands all over his torso, lingering touches that promise all sorts of wonderful things to come. Cas stops them in front of a door like all the others, but it’s marked 2, not 11. 

“Wait, Cas, what are you doing?” Dean asks.

Cas gives him a surprised look. “I thought...I thought it was obvious,” he says, flushing slightly. “Unless, you don’t want to?”

“No, of course I do,” Dean reassures him. “But why here?”

“You always say your mattress is the best,” Cas says with a shrug, pushing the door open and stepping inside. 

“But this isn’t my room,” Dean says, glancing at the door in confusion. He looks inside, and what the hell? It looks like his room, alright. But the number on the door is wrong. A prickle of unease runs down his spine. Something isn’t right.

Cas is standing in the room, turning on the lamp on the bedside table. He gives Dean a coy grin, and Dean wants to go to him, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Call it a hunter’s instincts. He looks around the room, and while most of the furniture is in the right place, his photos aren’t where he usually keeps them. They’re in frames, hung up on one wall. 

They look good like that, he notes, but that’s not where they should be.

He swallows nervously. “Cas,” he says. 

Castiel turns to look at him, and he must register Dean’s distress, because he crosses the room swiftly and grips Dean by the arms. “What?” he asks. “Are we moving too fast?”

Dean just shakes his head, busy scanning the room for signs of some enemy. Is this a hallucination? Some sort of djinn thing? 

But then, that would mean that he and Cas weren’t really together. 

He bites his lip so hard he’s sure he draw blood, but when he raises his hand to his mouth, it comes away clean. Just to be sure, he grabs his switchblade from his boot and slices quickly across one fingertip, ignoring Cas’ cry of protest. 

Nothing happens.

Dean slumps onto the bed and drops his head into his hands. He feels Castiel settle beside him, and a moment later, the comforting weight of an arm around his shoulders. But he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t return the embrace. It doesn’t mean anything after all. 

But how did this happen? He wracks his brain, desperately trying to put the pieces together. They haven’t even been on a hunt since things ended with Lucifer and Amara. How could they have gotten jumped when they’ve been safe in the bunker?

Or have they? Who knows how long Dean’s mind has been playing tricks on him. 

“Cas,” he asks, “when’s the last time we left the bunker?”

“Why does that matter?” He can hear the bemusement in Cas’ voice.

“Just answer the question, please.” Dean knows he sounds like a wreck right now, but he needs to figure this out. 

Castiel hesitates. “I can’t remember,” he says quietly. “I remember banishing Lucifer, and then...Amara was just gone, somehow. And then we were back here.”

Dean closes his eyes, and thinks back to that day. Amara and Lucifer in that strangely beautiful garden. 

No. That isn’t right. Lucifer wasn’t there, Chuck was.

Dean shakes his head against the confusing jumble of images that run through his mind. They overlap in places, and contradict themselves in others. He doesn’t know what’s real and what’s invented.

“Just breathe,” Castiel tells him, holding tightly to his hand. “Breathe, Dean.”

So he does. He inhales deeply, then exhales slowly. The images begin to sort themselves out in his mind. Some of them have a particular quality about them, a slight sheen. Those are the fake ones, he thinks. The ones with Lucifer, the ones about the time they’ve spent back in the bunker since the big showdown.

There’s one image that presses insistently behind his eyes. Chuck and Amara, standing hand in hand. Dean looking at the two of them, wondering how it’s even possible that they’re both still standing there. That he’s still standing there too. And then Amara approaching him, reaching out to him.

And a single word echoing in his skull. _Rest_.

Dean knows without a doubt that this is the real memory. That Lucifer wasn’t even there. That they didn’t defeat Amara, she just left along with Chuck. That he never made it back to Sam and Cas and the others. 

He’s pretty sure he isn’t dead, though. That’s a plus, he thinks hysterically. It certainly gives him perspective.

But as he struggles to come to terms with what this means, and what to do about it, he’s all too aware of the way he’s still sitting so close to Cas, the contact between the two of them.

He closes his eyes against the painful truth: _this isn’t real_.


	5. Chapter 5

Next, they’ll make the trip to Sioux Falls. 

Castiel is a bit apprehensive about it. Sam had immediately called Jody Mills to arrange a visit while they were in town, and she must have told Claire, because Castiel’s phone lit up with a message from her shortly thereafter. ‘ _Hear you’re coming to visit_ ,’ it read. ‘ _Cool_.’ 

He and Claire haven’t seen one another since they sent her to stay with Sheriff Mills. They text occasionally, and he thinks she’s doing well. Sam and Dean reported that she seemed happy when they saw her last. But he’s still nervous. 

Especially considering that she isn’t even the reason he’s making the trip. That makes his insides twist with guilt. He knows he would be there as soon as possible if Claire was truly in trouble, and that it’s good for them to have some distance. That she doesn’t need him all the time, and that his presence might do her more harm than good. 

But of all human emotions, guilt is the one Castiel is most familiar with. He must have learned it from the Winchesters early and never gotten past it, he thinks. 

They leave in the morning, again. Sam’s more relaxed today, probably looking forward to spending time with Jody and the girls. If he notices Castiel’s mood, he doesn’t comment on it. Dean would have prodded him about it, forced him to talk about it. For all that he likes to complain about Sam’s insistence on talking about feelings, Dean is just as bad. As long as they aren’t his own feelings, of course. 

They’re about halfway through the six-hour drive when Sam pulls into a gas station to fill the tank and use the bathroom. When he returns, he sticks his head through the passenger side window, startling Castiel. “Hey,” he says. “You wanna drive?”

Castiel blinks at him. He’s never driven the Impala before. He’s never had any reason to. “If you’re tired,” he says carefully, “then yes, I can drive.”

Sam shrugs. “It’s up to you. Just thought you might get bored riding shotgun all the time.”

He’s thought about it before, of course. He’s thought about all sorts of things involving this car, himself, and Dean. Sam was never present in any of those imagined scenarios. He shouldn’t mention that now, though. That would be rude. 

“Alright,” he says slowly, and Sam grins at him as he opens his door. He takes the keys from Sam’s outstretched hand and settles behind the wheel, running a reverent hand over its surface. He swears he can feel the memory of Dean’s skin on the steering wheel, settled into its atoms after so many hours of contact between the two.

He looks over at Sam, who gives him an encouraging nod. And then he just drives.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly, the breeze blowing through the open windows. Castiel understands Dean a bit better the longer he drives. He understands how this brings him peace, how it allows him to relax, even when the brothers are on their way to deal with dark and difficult situations. It is different with this car. She’s seen her share of battles, her share of injuries, and she’s still fighting. 

He’s so lost in his enjoyment of the drive that he barely notices when they pass the sign announcing their arrival in Sioux Falls. Sam breaks the silence to give him directions to Jody’s house, and all of a sudden Castiel’s nervousness returns. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, and Sam looks over at him, concerned.

“You okay?” he asks.

Castiel debates how best to answer that question, and in that brief moment, understanding dawns on Sam’s face. “Nervous about seeing Claire, huh,” he says softly.

“Yes,” Castiel nods. 

“Don’t be,” Sam says firmly. “She’s grown up a lot. And not because she’s been forced to under traumatic circumstances this time. But because she’s got a good life now, all things considered, and the chance to figure out what she wants out of it.”

This reassures Castiel somewhat. “I am looking forward to meeting Jody, though. And thanking her.”

“Jody’s great,” Sam smiles. “I think you two will get along great.”

How strange, to talk about this like it’s simply a social call. Nothing in their lives is ever simple, though. 

They pull up in front of the house a few minutes later, and climb out of the car. Sam grabs their bags out of the backseat and makes his way eagerly to the front door, Castiel trailing behind. Before Sam even has a chance to knock, the door is flying open, and they’re greeted by Claire’s face. Her smiling face.

Castiel has never seen her look so happy, and in that brief moment, all his guilt and doubts are assuaged. This was the right thing for her. This is where she belongs.

“You made it,” she says, ushering them inside. “I was starting to think you got lost.”

“I think she’s insulting your driving, Cas,” Sam says, not bothering to hide his grin.

Claire raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Dean let you drive?”

He and Sam exchange a look. They hadn’t told Jody and Claire the exact reason for their trip to Sioux Falls, figuring it was best to explain in person.

“Yeah, about that,” Sam says, steering them towards the kitchen.

They find Jody there, and Castiel watches as she and Sam embrace enthusiastically. She claps him on the back and then turns to Castiel. He straightens up and offers her his hand to shake, but she ignores it and pulls him into a hug as well. He’s stiff at first, but relaxes into it, patting her lightly on the back.

“Nice to finally meet you,” she says, smiling warmly at him. He can’t help but return the smile.

“You as well,” he says. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

She laughs. “Yeah, could say the same to you. But we’ll trade those stories later. What’s going on?” She cranes her neck, looking towards the front of the house. “And where’s Dean?”

“That’s why we’re here, actually,” Sam says, taking a seat at the table. “Dean’s…”

Jody raises her hands to her mouth, distressed. “He’s not…”

“No, no,” Sam says quickly. “He’s alive. Just. Under a spell. We need to wake him up, bring him back.”

“Like Sleeping Beauty,” Claire says. “Sounds easy enough to accomplish. True love’s kiss or whatever.” She sneaks a glance at Castiel as she says this, and he frowns, unsure of its meaning.

Sam laughs. “I wish it was that easy. We’ve got a spell, we just need the proper ingredients for it. Seven tokens to remind Dean of his life and bring him back to his body.”

Jody nods slowly. “And you’re here to get something of Bobby’s.”

Castiel is impressed at how quickly she put the pieces together, but then again, she is a member of the police force. And she’s known the Winchesters long enough at this point to be well-aware of their history with this town. She’s been a part of it herself.

“Exactly,” Sam says. “There isn’t much left at the house,” his voice cracks slightly, “but if we’re talking about keeping Dean grounded, we don’t need to look much further than Bobby.”

Jody nods, a wistful look in her eyes. “He loved you boys like his own,” she says softly. “I think he’d be happy to help, in any way.”

“Yeah,” Sam says roughly. “So, anyways. We’re gonna head over there, have a look around. We wanted to drop in and say hi first.”

“You’re not staying longer?” Claire asks, and Castiel swears she sounds disappointed.

“Of course they are,” Jody says briskly. “Unless they’re planning on making the drive from here to their secret bunker twice in one day, which I don’t recommend. No matter the stakes.”

“That’s the one good thing, I guess,” Sam tells them. “We can’t complete the spell until the next full moon, which is just under three weeks away. So we’ve got time.”

“Great, that settles it,” Jody announces. “You go get what you need at Bobby’s, then come on back here. You’re having dinner here and staying the night. No arguments.”

Sam grins at her, pleased. “After the last dinner you made us, I definitely won’t be arguing.”

Castiel looks at Claire, and she smiles back at him. He’s happy that they’ll get more of a chance to talk later. 

“By the way, where’s Alex?” Sam asks, looking around curiously.

“She’s at work,” Claire answers.

“She took a year off to make up her mind about college,” Jody continues. “So she’s working reception at a dentist’s in town for now. She’ll be home for dinner.”

More people to meet. It would be a bit overwhelming under other circumstances, but these are the most important people in Claire’s life now. Castiel is eager to get to know them for that reason alone.

But first, they have to accomplish what they came here to do.

They say quick goodbyes to Claire and Jody, who wave them off from the doorway. Sam drives this time. He knows where he’s going, and it just makes more sense.

It’s a fairly short drive out to the edge of town where Bobby used to live. They pull into the salvage yard, passing under the rusty sign, and park the Impala among the other cars in their various states of neglect. 

The burned-out husk that was once Bobby’s home is a sad sight. Castiel knows this isn’t the first time Sam has seen it this way, but as he takes in the other man’s expression, he doesn’t think it’s much easier this time around.

“Maybe this was a bad idea.” Sam’s voice is quiet, but in the silence of the abandoned lot, it seems to echo strangely. “Do we really want Dean to be reminded of the last year of Bobby’s life? How he lost this place, then his own life? I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing that would convince him to come back. It might do just the opposite.”

Castiel considers this as he looks around. “Yes, that’s true,” he says, brushing his hand over the hood of one of the cars. “But I think it will depend on what we choose. Nothing touched by the fire. No ashes from one of Bobby’s books, or a soot-stained brick from the house.”

Sam thinks about it, and finally he nods. “The fire mostly affected the house itself,” he says. “And sure, we spent time there, researching and hanging out. But when I think about Dean here, mostly I think about him out here, with the cars.”

Castiel remembers several conversations with Dean in this lot as well. He always seemed comfortable here, in his element. The object they choose may well serve a dual purpose, acting as a reminder both of Bobby and of Dean’s hours spent working here. Acts of repair rather than acts of destruction. Yes, it’s a good choice.

They wander around the yard, but all they find are rusted-out cars. Nothing easily transportable. Sam pauses for a second, his hand on the roof of what was once a pick-up truck, then sets off for the workshop, his stride determined. Curious, Castiel follows him.

Sam pushes the door open and enters, placing his hands on his hips as he surveys the interior. “He rebuilt the Impala here,” he says. “A few times, actually.”

Unlike the rest of the yard, this workspace is tidy. Of course it is, Castiel thinks fondly. Dean takes care of the places that are important to him, just likes he does with the people who are important to him. He can picture him in his coveralls, carefully putting away all his tools after finishing whatever he’d been working on. Leaning against the wall, a satisfied smile on his face as he took in his latest project.

Sam digs around in a toolbox and holds up a wrench. “What do you think?”

Castiel looks at it. It doesn’t look like anything special. Just a small piece of metal. But it belonged to Bobby. And it was almost certainly used by Dean at some point. 

“I was never as interested in taking things apart and putting them back together as Dean was,” Sam says. “But when he tried to teach me stuff, I always enjoyed it. Spending time together, not because of monsters. It felt like normal brother stuff, you know? And I think that’s how he felt about it sometimes too. The car stuff. Like something he and Dad might have done. The other family business.”

“But Bobby was the one who actually gave him the time and place to do it,” Castiel comments.

“Bobby gave us a lot of things Dad never did,” Sam mutters. He looks away, lost in his memories.

Castiel waits politely for him to gather himself. It doesn’t take long before Sam turns back to him, his expression clearer. “Sorry,” he offers.

“There’s no need to apologize.” Castiel knows that John Winchester is a difficult subject. So to distract Sam from his thoughts, he points to the wrench. “I think it will work.”

Sam nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Like you said, it’s about intention, right? And this is good. A reminder to Dean that he’s more than just a hunter, and hopefully a symbol of happy memories between him and Bobby.”

With that settled, they leave the workshop, and make their way back to the car. Sam pauses in front of the remains of the house again, and noticing the look on his face, Castiel lays a tentative hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be in the car.”

He gets into the passenger seat and looks away, giving Sam a moment of privacy to say whatever goodbyes he needs to. When Sam comes back to the car, he sighs deeply, and then murmurs a quiet thank-you. Castiel nods, and they leave Singer Salvage behind them.

When they knock on Jody’s door for the second time that day, it’s opened by a young woman with dark hair who Castiel assumes must be Alex, Jody’s first wayward orphan. She gives them a small smile. “Hi,” she says to Sam.

“Hey, Alex,” Sam replies, his voice going soft. “How are you?”

Her smile widens just slightly. “Good,” she says. “Yeah, I’m pretty good.”

They enter the house, and Alex turns to Castiel. “You must be the angel,” she says. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Castiel chuckles. “It’s nice to meet you, Alex,” he says. “I’m glad to see that you’re doing well.”

She shrugs as she leads them into the kitchen, where Jody and Claire are putting the finishing touches on dinner. “What could be more normal than a high-school graduate not knowing what to do with their life, right?”

Claire throws her a look of fond exasperation. “Top of the class, accepted to every college she applied to, and she chose to hang around here for another year.”

“I knew you’d miss me if I left,” Alex shoots back, and Claire doesn’t reply, but there’s a hint of a smile playing around her lips.

Castiel watches them interact, and is struck by how much they remind him of other siblings he knows, including Sam and Dean. It’s heartening to see that they’ve gotten close, especially after Claire had confessed that she found it difficult to get along with Alex at first. He’d told her it might just take time, and it seems that he was correct.

They sit down to dinner, and though he doesn’t normally bother eating, Castiel tries a few bites of everything so he can compliment Jody on her cooking. “That’s very sweet of you,” she tells him, “but Sam’s appreciative enough for the two of you, I think.”

Sam, his mouth too full of mashed potatoes to speak, just nods vigorously in agreement. Claire and Alex fake disgust, but he thinks they’re amused as well. 

“How was work?” Jody asks Alex. It’s such a _normal_ question. Castiel is thrilled that this is the kind of dinner that Claire has now-- family gathered together, asking questions about each other’s days over good food. He feels privileged to be part of it, as well. 

“Good,” Alex says, swallowing a mouthful of green beans. “Everybody’s payment went through, so I didn’t get yelled at, which is always a plus.”

Sam laughs. “That’s a good attitude.”

Alex shrugs. “It’s a good place to work, for now.”

“And you, Claire?” Castiel asks, looking at her across the table. “Have you given any further thought to your future?”

“You sound like one of those bible-thumpers,” Claire tells him. “And yeah, actually. Jody and I talked about it. I’m taking some Criminology classes. Hopefully I’ll have a badge of my own in a few years.”

Castiel refrains from pointing out the dangers of police work, sneaking a glance at Jody. She’s done well for herself, balancing everyday human law enforcement with her knowledge of the supernatural. And it’s not as though Claire can simply forget about everything she’s been through. Maybe this will be a good way for her to channel her desire for justice. 

The conversation flows easily throughout the rest of the meal, and once they’ve finished eating, Alex retreats to her room to talk to a friend, and Sam and Jody shoo Castiel and Claire out of the kitchen, insisting that they can handle the dishes.

“It’s not often I get a break from cleaning up,” Claire tells him as she leads him into the living room. She curls up in an armchair, her arms wrapped around her knees. “So really, how have you been?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that question. He’s been many things since the last time he saw her. He’s been under Rowena’s spell, forced to attack innocent people. He’s been sad and scared, hidden in the bunker. He’s been possessed by Lucifer. How is he supposed to tell her that?

He shrugs instead. “I’m alright,” he says.

She shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re a terrible liar,” she informs him. “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

He wonders if she can read him so well because he wears the same face her father did, or because of that time when he used her body as a vessel all those years ago. Either way, it’s somewhat unsettling. 

“We don’t think he’s suffering,” he says. It’s not a real answer, but if he admits to his worries about Dean, all his feelings will come pouring out of him, and he’s fairly certain that Claire doesn’t want to hear those. 

“That’s good,” she says, looking down at her hands. She looks younger, suddenly. Softer. “You need him.”

She says it so simply, Castiel knows she has no idea how significant those words are to he and Dean. But hearing her say it, he sits backs on the couch, a lump in his throat. 

She smiles wryly at him. “It’s not like you ever did a very good job of hiding it,” she points out. 

Perhaps not. But this is still a conversation Castiel never anticipated having. “It’ll be fine,” he tells her. “It’s unfortunate that the spell can’t be cast for another three weeks, but at least we know. We’ve faced more uncertain situations before.”

“Your lives are weird,” she informs him. “And that’s coming from someone whose life most people would write off as fiction. Bad fiction.”

He has to laugh at that, reminded of Chuck’s insistence on playing author. He wonders what Claire would have made of him. He probably would have been terrified of her. 

“Yours seems good, though,” he says to her. “I’m glad to see it.”

She smiles. “Yeah,” she admits. “Jody and Alex have been good to me. It’s nice, being around other people who know about the things that go bump in the night, but don’t go out of their way looking for them either. I think it might be teaching me balance,” she jokes.

“And you know that if you do need assistance, we’ll always be here for you,” he says earnestly. He needs to make sure she understands that. 

“I know,” Claire says. “But I gotta say, I’m glad that we haven’t, so far.”

“I am too.” He wants her to have a chance to get used to a quiet life, to do what she wants to do rather than what she feels she has to.

The conversation turns to lighter topics when he asks if she still has the stuffed cat he gave her, and she blushes slightly but admits that yes, it’s upstairs in her room. Then she bounds across the room to sit beside him on the couch and show him video after video of animals doing amusing things. It’s nice, he thinks, looking down on her blonde head as she laughs at the video playing on her phone. It’s good to see her happy.

Long after the others have gone to bed, Castiel sits in the darkened living room, alone with his thoughts. It went well today, he thinks. Both their time at Bobby’s and their time here. Sam looked happy and relaxed, smiling more genuinely than he had since that day in the cemetery when they said their goodbyes to Dean. 

Yes, this was a good trip. Dean will be happy to hear about it, when he wakes up.

In the morning, he helps Alex and Claire make pancakes. Jody and Sam watch, amused, from their seats at the kitchen table, smirking at each other over their mugs of coffee. He places a plate of pancakes on the table in front of them with pride, and watches with some trepidation as they take their first bites.

“These are...really good,” Sam says, sounding surprised.

Claire laughs. “Yeah, we’ve been practicing.”

Castiel smiles, pleased with himself. “It’s satisfying, cooking,” he says. “Even if I don’t need to eat.”

“Maybe you and Claire should open a restaurant,” Jody jokes. 

Castiel and Claire look at each other, and simultaneously shake their hands. “No thanks,” Claire shudders. “That would get annoying very fast.”

They finish their breakfast, and then it’s time for he and Sam to leave. He hugs Jody willingly, and even Alex steps forward for a quick embrace. They’re so welcoming, so ready to accept him as another member of their ragtag family. He appreciates it more than he could ever properly express.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Jody is saying to Sam, still holding his upper arms after stepping back from a hug.

“We may take you up on that,” Sam replies. “If we end up going somewhere further away, would you guys be willing to come down to the bunker to watch over Dean?”

Alex looks both intrigued and horrified. “That sounds kinda weird, but yeah.”

Jody nods firmly. “Of course,” she says.

Castiel looks at Claire, who nods as well. “Sure,” she says. “We can always use a vacation, even to somewhere as boring as Kansas.”

“The bunker’s a pretty cool place, actually,” Sam tells her. “Lots of lore.”

Claire’s eyes light up. “Definitely, then.”

She looks back at Castiel, who’s waiting respectfully, unsure of how to say goodbye to her. She rolls her eyes and hugs him, and he returns the embrace gratefully. “Take care of yourself,” he tells her.

“Yeah, you too,” she says, pulling away.

He and Sam get back into the car. Sam’s driving again. Jody and the girls wave goodbye as they pull out of the driveway, and Castiel waves back just as enthusiastically. 

“This was good,” he says to Sam as they head back to the highway. “For all of us, I think.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “And we got what we needed.”

Castiel nods. “We should visit them more often. When things are more settled.”

“I’m not really sure what ‘settled’ looks like for us, but yeah, I think so too,” Sam says. “You were right, you know. About us not being as alone as we sometimes think we are. It’s good to remember that.”

“Family don’t end in blood,” Castiel quotes, and sees Sam’s lips twitch in response.

“Exactly,” he says.


	6. Chapter 6

They spend a few boring days at the bunker after that. They have to keep reminding themselves that no matter how quickly they gather the pieces for the spell, it can’t be cast until the full moon. Two and a half weeks to go. 

Crowley leaves the bunker, since Castiel and Sam will be there to watch over Dean. He doesn’t give any indication of what he’s going to do, now that he’s lost the throne of Hell, and Castiel doesn’t ask. But Crowley does pause before leaving, and asks them to call him if they need to leave again. Sam, watching from the bottom of the stairs, nods reluctantly.

“Is there a spell to change the lunar cycle so the full moon comes sooner?” Sam asks one morning. He’s staring into his mug of coffee. Castiel isn’t entirely sure if he’s joking or not.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. 

Sam frowns. “Death did something once. Made another eclipse happen. Of course, we killed Death, so.”

Castiel refrains from starting a convoluted argument as to whether it’s actually possible to kill Death, and just nods. “Of course, any kind of act on that large a scale would probably have far-reaching negative consequences that we would then have to deal with.”

Sam sighs and drains his mug of coffee. “And so we wait.”

“And so we wait,” Castiel agrees.

It is, he concedes, very boring. The bunker is a fascinating place, but it seems too quiet without Dean’s vivid presence filling its halls. Without his loud music spilling out of his room, without him humming to himself in the kitchen. 

That gives Castiel an idea, actually. “I’m going to go sit with Dean for awhile,” he tells Sam. “You should take a break. Clear your head.”

“Maybe. I could use a run,” Sam says, stretching his arms out behind him. “You’ll call me if anything changes?”

“Of course.” They both know that nothing will change, that Dean will remain in exactly the same state, but they’ve fallen into this habit anyways. 

Castiel makes his way down to Dean’s room. It still feels strange, entering without knocking. With some amusement, he remembers when he used to simply appear at Dean’s side, human concepts of privacy and personal space completely lost on him. He’s gotten better at understanding such things over the years.

Not that Dean is awake to appreciate his consideration. 

Castiel rummages around the room and finds Dean’s collection of albums. He chooses _Houses of the Holy_ because the title makes him smile. He puts it on, the volume perhaps lower than Dean would normally have it, and settles into the chair to listen.

“I like to think that you can hear this, somehow,” he says after a few minutes. “Me talking to you, yes, but particularly the music. It brings you so much comfort, so much joy. That’s all I want for you, Dean.”

He’s interrupted by Sam sticking his head into the room. Castiel didn’t bother to close the door behind him. Sam smiles as he takes in the scene before him. “Good idea,” he says approvingly.

He’s wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, so Castiel assumes he is going for a run. “See you soon,” he says, lifting a hand in farewell. Sam nods and places his headphones in his ears, then leaves.

Castiel finds himself unconsciously drumming his fingertips on the arm of the chair, echoing the beat of the song. Dean does this sometimes, usually when he’s driving. He always gets this particular smile on his face when he does.

Dean has an entire catalogue of smiles at his disposal. Castiel loves every one of them, of course, but that one, that small secret smile Dean gets when he hears a song he loves, is one of his favourites. 

He wonders which smile Dean will wear when he first wakes up. When he first realizes that he’s alright, and that the world is no longer ending, and that they’re all together.

Maybe it will be a new smile entirely. 

Castiel distantly hears the door to the bunker opening some time later. Sam must be back from his run. He stays where he is, though, until the album finishes. Then he carefully puts it back where it belongs and turns to leave the room.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says to Dean’s still form. 

He waits for Sam in the kitchen. It’s a neutral zone, more relaxed than the library or the war room, both of which often feel too heavily tied to the hunting side of their lives. The kitchen feels the most like home. 

It also feels the most like Dean, and Castiel is well aware of the connection between the two.

“Oh, hey Cas,” Sam says as he enters the room, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “I thought you’d still be with Dean.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Sam sits down across from him. “What’s up?”

Sam is an excellent listener, always giving his full attention to whoever is speaking. It’s a quality Castiel has to come to admire in him, over the years. 

He drums his fingers on the table a few times, echoing his earlier movements. “We don’t have a plan yet, for what we should use as a token next.”

“No,” Sam says slowly. “You have something in mind?”

“Yes,” Castiel says honestly, “but you might not like it.”

He had been thinking it over earlier, while he sat in Dean’s room listening to Zeppelin with him. He wondered if perhaps one of those albums would serve as a token. But as much as Dean loved music, he wasn’t sure that it was strong enough to serve as an anchor for him. 

And then, looking around Dean’s room, he saw the weapons that he had in place of decorations on the walls. Castiel is accustomed to carrying his angel blade on his person at all times. It feels like an extension of himself. 

“I think we should use his gun,” he says to Sam now.

“What? No,” Sam says immediately. “You’re joking, right?”

Castiel feared this would be his reaction. He folds his hands together and looks at Sam steadily. “No, I’m quite serious.”

Sam looks back at him, obviously unimpressed. “A gun? Not just a symbol of the violent life we lead, but an actual instrument of it? I really don’t think that’s the side of Dean that will help encourage him to come back.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, “but it’s more than that. Hunting isn’t just about violence, Sam. It never has been. If it ever becomes that, for either of you, then we will have a problem. But for now, it’s also about all the people that you save.”

“And the ones we don’t,” Sam says tightly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Cas.”

How can he make Sam understand? Castiel doesn’t disagree with Sam’s points, not really. He just thinks it’s more complicated than Sam will admit.

“I was thinking about my angel blade,” he says. “How it’s a part of me. And Dean’s gun-- like it or not, it is a part of him. How many times has he held it? It’s left calluses on his skin. He’s left prints on it. They’re tied to each other.”

“Sure, yeah, I get that,” Sam replies. “And yeah, maybe we do save people when we hunt. But…” he trails off, and his face goes distant. “Look, Dean has a rough history with weapons. I try not to think about it.”

Castiel frowns, unsure what Sam is alluding to, and then it becomes clear. “The First Blade.”

Sam nods tightly.

“This is nothing like that,” Castiel assures him. “I would never suggest using a weapon like that, that had its own history long before Dean first picked it up. That blade used him and consumed him. But his gun is different.”

Sam gives him a searching look. “Why is this so important to you?” he asks. “If we were down to the last one, and running out of time and options, yeah, I guess we could make the decision. But we’ve got plenty of time, and plenty of other things that would work.”

Castiel chooses his next words carefully. “I worry that we may be at risk of allowing our own,” he hesitates, “ _positive feelings_ for Dean oversimplify the tokens we’re selecting.”

“You mean, we’re being too positive?” Sam asks. “I thought that was kind of the point.”

“Positive, yes. Too positive, no.” It’s a completely arbitrary line, of course, but Castiel thinks they need to draw it anyways. 

Sam still doesn’t look convinced. Castiel sighs and tries again.

“If you asked anyone else, anyone other than us, to describe Dean, what do you think they would say?”

“Uh, I don’t know? That he’s a hunter, he likes pie, he makes bad jokes at inappropriate times?” Sam responds.

Castiel smiles at him. Finally. “You see? The first thing you said. _He’s a hunter_. I’m not sure we can fully separate the two, Dean from hunting. Whether that’s a good thing or not isn’t the issue right now.”

“Huh,” Sam says. “Okay, yeah. I get that. But Dean’s relationship with hunting is still pretty messed up. We didn’t exactly choose this life.”

“Perhaps not when it was forced upon you as children, no,” Castiel agrees. “But you have, in some ways, chosen to continue with it.”

Sam inclines his head in acknowledgment of the truth of Castiel’s statement. “So what you’re saying is, even if the job sucks, even if it is violent and bloody and exhausting and frustrating at times, it’s still part of Dean’s life. A big part of it.”

“And we can’t pretend that it isn’t,” Castiel finishes. “Yes, precisely.”

Sam reaches up and pushes a hand through his hair, still damp from his post-run shower. “And you think it would have an impact on the spell, if we didn’t use some representation of Dean as a hunter?”

“I believe so,” Castiel replies. “Obviously, I have no prior experience with this particular spell. But from the way I understand it, we’re using these objects not just as symbols, but as...chapters of a story, so to speak. The story of Dean.”

“Yeah, leaving hunting out of that would shorten the book considerably,” Sam snorts.

“And clearly, there are far more than seven things we could use for the purposes of the spell. Which is why we need to be selective. In the objects, and in what they represent.”

“Yeah, you said it was about intention, right?” Sam looks more thoughtful now, like he’s starting to understand why Castiel thinks the gun will suit their purposes so well.

“Yes. And our intent is not to paint a rose-tinted picture of Dean. There’s a difference between being selective and deliberately crafting a narrative that leaves out the difficult or uncomfortable aspects of his life and personality.”

Finally, Sam nods. There’s only the slightest hint of reluctance remaining in his voice. “Alright,” he says. “We’ll use the gun. So that makes, what? Three down?”

“Four to go,” Castiel replies, pleased. 

Sam sighs wearily and stands. “I’m gonna go…” he gestures loosely towards the hall, and Castiel understands. He thinks their conversation may have prompted some rather difficult thoughts for Sam to have to deal with, about his family and their history and what hunting truly means to them. 

He never meant to cause Sam any distress. “I’m sorry,” he offers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Sam says quickly. Too quickly.

Castiel raises a skeptical eyebrow at him, and Sam laughs shortly. “Okay, fine. I forget how hard it is to lie to you, sometimes.” He shrugs. “I’m not used to having this much time for introspection. But maybe it’s good for all of us. Time to actually deal with all the crap we’ve pushed aside over the years trying to focus on the latest threat to the world.”

“A strange sort of vacation, yes,” Castiel says.

A small smile plays around Sam’s lips. “We talked about a vacation recently, Dean and I. But a real one. You know, with a beach. And actual sunlight.”

“That sounds very pleasant,” Castiel offers. It does. He hopes that the brothers get a chance for a week just like that. They deserve it, both of them.

“Maybe someday,” Sam says wistfully, and leaves the room.

Castiel remains where he is for a minute, then stands and goes back to Dean’s room. As expected, Dean is in the exact same position as before. Castiel frowns and presses a hand to his forehead, attempting to monitor his vitals. He doesn’t appear to be hungry or thirsty. Whatever magic Amara used to put him in this state, it’s clearly designed to keep the sleeper alive and well. Just not awake. 

He finds the gun in one of Dean’s drawers. Sometimes he keeps it under his pillow. Sometimes in the Impala, sometimes he carries it with him. But on his last mission, he didn’t need the gun-- he himself was intended to be the weapon. The soul-bomb he carried in his chest was meant to destroy Amara. Clearly, that didn’t happen. 

But it means that they don’t have to go chasing after the pistol. Castiel places it carefully beside the wrench that they brought back from Bobby’s salvage yard. They moved the branch from outside the house in Lawrence into Dean’s room as well when they returned from Sioux Falls. Castiel likes the symmetry of having all the objects gathered together.

Waiting in the wings until they’re called upon to beckon Dean home.


	7. Chapter 7

The next thing Dean knows, the bedroom that may or may not be his is fading around him, the furniture disappearing from view. Cas flickers like an image on a television screen, and then he’s gone, and Dean is alone.

Standing in the middle of an empty field that looks strangely familiar.

“Oh, shit,” he says into the quiet air. He knows where he is now. The field he saw in the first vision he ever had of the Darkness, right after they killed Death and the Mark of Cain was removed from his arm.

Maybe he is dead after all. Amara got what she wanted, and he’s a part of her now.

Dean closes his eyes, but when he opens them again, nothing’s changed. Except-- 

He hears a polite cough from behind him and whirls around, hand dropping to his waistband to reach for a gun that isn’t there. He frowns.

“Jenna?” he asks incredulously.

He’s sure it’s her. She’s not wearing her deputy’s uniform, her casual outfit making her look more like the young woman he dropped off at her grandmother’s with a baby who turned out to the Darkness in her arms. Those turquoise eyes are unmistakeable. But what is she doing here? 

“Hi, Dean,” she says. She sounds calm. Not panicked, not distressed. Just...at peace.

“Uh, hi,” he says. “Jenna, what’s going on?”

“Don’t you know?” she says enigmatically. Dean’s not really in the mood.

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be asking,” he snaps. 

Her smile falters, but only for a second. “You’re angry,” she notes. She steps closer, and reaches out for him. He recoils instinctively, but then manages to hold himself still as she passes her hand over his. “And warm.” Her own hand is freezing. 

“Are we dead?” he demands. “Jenna, please, just tell me what’s going on.”

“I am,” she says, seemingly unbothered by this. “I don’t think you are, though. You’re not fully entrenched here, the way that I am. More like you’re just passing through.”

Okay. So he’s not dead. That’s good news, Dean’s fairly certain. “And where are we, exactly?”

“We’re with her. Within her, I suppose.” Jenna smiles at the blank look on Dean’s face. “Amara, of course.”

Dean scrubs a hand across his face, trying to clear his thoughts. “What do you mean, you’re entrenched here?”

Jenna shrugs. “She consumed me,” she replies softly. “My soul. So I’m part of her now.”

Dean flinches. Jenna just laughs. “It’s alright,” she says. “My body died not long after she took my soul for her own. We just flipped the usual order of things.”

“But you-- you were a good person. You belong in Heaven, not here,” Dean waves a hand at the empty field. It’s no Purgatory, or Hell, sure, but it certainly doesn’t look like Paradise either. 

“Does it matter?” Jenna asks. “I’m at peace. Call it Heaven, call it whatever you like. I’m not suffering.”

It goes against everything Dean has been led to believe for the past year. She’s the Darkness, for crying out loud, how can anything associated with her be anything other than bad news? But then he remembers the way she spoke to Chuck in that factory, the way she kept talking about his story versus hers. The way Chuck and Lucifer and all the others kept talking about balance, and the need for both dark and light in the world.

“But it wasn’t your time to go,” he argues. He doesn’t know why this is so important. Maybe because she feels like another person he failed to save, or maybe just because he’s still grappling with the implications of his own presence here.

“Maybe not,” Jenna agrees. “But we also say that for every person who gets hit by a car, or caught by a stray bullet, or involved in the kind of cases that you ride around the country to solve, Dean. We always say it isn’t their time, and yet their time is up anyways.”

Dean did not sign up for Philosophy 101. He swears under his breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. This is giving him a headache.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So your soul is here. Part of her. Part of,” he waves his hand around them, “all of this.”

Jenna nods. “Yes.”

“But I’m not?” he checks. 

She shakes her head. “You’re just visiting.”

“So how did I get here, then?” He remembers the garden, Amara and Chuck talking through their differences, Amara moving towards him. “She sent me here?”

“Seems the most likely answer,” Jenna replies, a light breeze rustling her dark hair. “Maybe she wanted you to see it. To see what it’s really like.”

Yeah, well, he’s seen it now. He frowns. “I think she said something to me, before she sent me here. _Rest_.”

“That would make sense,” she says thoughtfully. She spreads her arms wide, indicating the vast emptiness around them. “Look, Dean. There’s nothing to fight, nothing to hunt. Nothing threatening to end the world. No fear, no pain. Isn’t that what she always promised you?”

It was, but it always sounded way creepier when Amara said it. 

“I guess,” he mutters. “But look, I can’t stay here. I’ve got people out there in the real world who are probably worried about me. I have to get back to them.”

“If they knew how good this could be for you, they’d want you to stay,” Jenna says, unruffled.

Dean sighs. “Well, I don’t care. There’s gotta be some way out of this place.”

“Sure,” Jenna says. She points to the ground beneath their feet. “Follow the path.”

Dean looks down. Sure enough, there’s a narrow trail of packed earth that leads away, further into the field. He can’t see anything beyond it. 

“Uh-huh,” he says to Jenna. “And where exactly does this path lead?”

She smiles. “I don’t know. It’s different for everyone.”

Dean bites back a groan. Great. He looks at Jenna suspiciously, trying to determine if she’s sending him into a trap. She just stares back, her face impassive. If she wanted to hurt him, he thinks, she would have done it by now. He has no weapons, and she obviously understands this place better than he does.

“So, you, uh, coming with me then?” he asks, not sure what he wants her answer to be even as he asks the question.

She shakes her head. “No,” she replies. “I like it here. I think I’ll stay awhile. But it was good to see you again, Dean. I hope you find what you need.”

There’s that word again: _need_. Not what he wants, or what he’s looking for, but what he needs. 

“Bye, Jenna,” he says, lifting his hand in a wave. Then he turns his back on her and sets off down the path.

After a few minutes of walking, he’s forced to admit that it is kind of nice. The field is empty, sure, but it doesn’t feel lonely, somehow. It feels peaceful. The air is crisp and clean, the breeze just strong enough to be pleasant. He remembers what Mildred asked him, about the last time he watched a sunset just for the sake of it, and wonders when he last took a walk with no direction in mind. He thinks the answer might be never. 

And yeah, maybe a nice walk isn’t always the solution to the kind of problems that Dean usually has to deal with, but he finds himself relaxing more and more with every step that he takes. He doesn’t get hungry, or thirsty, or sore from walking in his heavy boots. Probably because he isn’t really here. But if he thinks about that for too long, it sort of ruins the moment.

So he just keeps walking.

Maybe half an hour later (it’s hard to tell how much time has passed here), the path branches off. Dean pauses and looks to his right, then to his left. There are no indications of what he’ll find in either direction. He instinctively turns to the right, then thinks _what the hell_ , and goes left instead. 

He takes two steps, and the field vanishes.

Instead of bright sunlight, there are candles flickering around a dim room. He’s seated at a small round table, and there’s a single rose in a crystal vase as a centerpiece. Dean looks down at himself and blinks in confusion. He’s wearing a suit. A nice suit. Nicer even than the ones he wears when he’s impersonating an FBI agent.

He’s also wearing a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Dean swears and looks across the table. The chair is pulled out like its occupant has recently stood up, and there’s a plate with a few scattered crumbs on it sitting there. Dean frowns. Who the hell--

There’s a rustle of cloth from above him, and he looks up just in time to see Castiel sliding back into the seat across from him. A server circles around and Castiel indicates that she can take his plate, smiling and thanking her politely. Then he folds his hands under his chin and smiles at Dean.

“That was excellent,” he says happily. 

Dean’s still struggling to catch up, but as the light reflects off the silver band on Castiel’s ring finger, the pieces slot into place. They’re married. He and Castiel. Married.

He drinks in the sight of him, his hair slightly mussed, but his tie straighter than usual. Dean has a sudden memory of tying it for him, teasing about him his inability to do it himself, and then kissing the scowl off his face. 

“Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel asks softly. His eyes are soft but they shine even in the dim candlelight. He looks gorgeous.

Dean wonders if this is a continuation of the previous vision, of he and Cas in the bunker’s kitchen, or another timeline altogether. It doesn’t matter, because neither one is real, but he wonders anyways. He wants to know how they made it to this point, having romantic dinners together with rings on their hands. How he got so lucky as to have Cas looking at him with that expression on his face, wonderstruck and fond.

“I’m fine,” he says, reaching for Cas’ hand. “I’m perfect.”

Cas beams at him, and Dean smiles back at him, helpless. 

“This was a good idea,” Cas says happily. “I know you said it was supposed to be a test, to make sure this establishment is suitable for Sam to propose to Eileen, but I think you secretly just wanted to try it for yourself.”

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you in that suit,” Dean replies smoothly, surprising himself. He doesn’t have the proper context for this scene-- Sam and Eileen are together? And it’s serious, apparently. But somehow he knows what to say, how to act like he wasn’t just dropped into this restaurant from the middle of a field.

Castiel laughs. “Maybe,” he agrees. “I think we can give Sam a good report, though, no?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, it was great.” He didn’t even get to enjoy the food, but he knows it’s the right answer anyways. Weird.

“Let’s go home,” Cas says, and hearing those words in his voice makes Dean’s heart thud painfully in his chest. Home. Their home, presumably. 

“Yeah,” he says roughly. He pats his pockets, looking for a wallet that he hopes is there, but Cas beats him to it, signaling for their server to bring their check and laying down a credit card before Dean can protest.

He gets a glimpse of it, and sees that the name on the card is Castiel Winchester.

Cas took his name? They really did make it official. He wishes he knew what the ceremony was like. Maybe there will be pictures in their house. Knowing them, there will be. 

Once they’ve paid, they leave the restaurant. Dean looks up at the sign, and instead of a name, there’s just a blur of lights. He sighs. This place isn’t so great with details, apparently.

He reaches into his pocket for his keys and comes up empty. He looks over at Cas, who chuckles and holds them up, dangling from his fingertips. “You promised,” he says.

So Dean climbs into the passenger seat of the Impala without further protest. 

Cas looks comfortable behind the wheel. And hot. Christ, he looks hot, in that dark grey suit, the streetlights casting shadows over his face as he drives, his posture loose and relaxed. 

After only a short drive, they pull into the driveway of a small but comfortable looking two-storey house. There’s a light on in the front window, casting a warm glow that beckons them inside. Dean follows as Cas walks up the short path and unlocks the door. 

He drops the keys into a small bowl on the table in the entrance, taking off his shoes and placing them neatly on the mat. Dean copies his movements. He sneaks a glance at the walls, and yep, there it is, a framed portrait from what must be their wedding day. They both look good, but more than that, they look _happy_. 

Castiel has disappeared further inside the house, so Dean walks down the hall and into the kitchen, where he finds him putting the kettle on to boil. “Tea?” he asks, not even turning to look as Dean comes up behind him.

“Sure,” Dean says. 

“I knew you secretly liked it,” Cas replies, dropping two teabags into a pair of matching blue mugs. They’re the same colour as his eyes, Dean notes, and then flushes, certain that he bought them for that exact reason. 

Once their tea is ready, Dean allows Castiel to lead him into the living room, where they curl up on the couch together. Cas pulls a soft throw blanket over their laps and smiles at Dean over the top of his mug. “Today was a good day.”

“It’s not over yet,” Dean replies absently, sneaking surreptitious glances around the room. There’s a large bookcase against the far wall, and some of the books look related to hunting, while others are definitely not. 

So maybe they are retired. Or at least semi-retired. They’ve moved out of the bunker, that much is clear. It was a good place for them, but this is good too. The windows are a particularly nice feature.

“Did you text Sam about the restaurant?” Cas asks.

“Nah, it can wait until morning,” Dean says. “He’s waiting for the anniversary of that first job, the first time they met, you know? He just wants to make sure he has everything else ready by then.”

“I’m happy for them,” Cas says with a little sigh. “She’s good for him.”

“She is,” Dean agrees. He doesn’t know all the details, but he knows that his brother is happier than he’s been in years, and that’s what matters to Dean. Even if this isn’t real. He’s glad he got the chance to indulge this sense of brotherly pride.

“We should throw them an engagement party,” Castiel continues. 

Dean snorts. “You think they’d want us to make a big fuss over them?”

“It doesn’t have to be fussy. Just a few close friends. You can even barbecue, if you want, to keep it casual.”

Okay, that does sound kind of nice. Dean wonders if he and Cas had an engagement party, but he can’t exactly just ask.

Or can he? He sort of talked to Cas last time, when he was trying to figure out what was going on. As far as he knows, Cas isn’t stuck here like he is. He’s just a projection of Dean’s. 

“Tell me about our engagement,” he says, hoping that he isn’t making some terrible mistake that will cause this reality to collapse around him. He’s kind of enjoying it, even if it is all made up. 

Castiel puts his tea down on the table and gestures for Dean to do the same. Then he pats his lap invitingly, and Dean swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. He tilts sideways on the couch, curling up with his head resting on Cas’ lap and arranging the blanket more comfortably over the two of them.

Cas’ hands come down to stroke soothingly through his hair. “It was just like every other day,” he says. He sounds like he’s reciting a poem that he’s loved for years, held close to his mind and his heart. “We just got back from a hunt. Vampires. It was a difficult job, and you weren’t happy about the way it ended. None of us were in great shape. And then that night, when we were making love, you just looked at me, and asked me to marry you.”

Dean groans. “What a cliché. Proposing during sex?”

“I didn’t mind,” Cas tells him. “It was one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever experienced, saying yes.”

Dean can’t help laughing at that. “Really blew you away, huh,” he says.

Castiel drops an affectionate kiss on his forehead. “Yes, you did. And then we fell asleep tangled more closely than I ever thought possible, and the next morning you made us blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Sam came in and took one look at us and knew something was different. He took his pancakes and retreated.”

“And then we had sex in the kitchen, didn’t we?” Dean asks with a grin. He can’t tell if he’s been given a memory of this invented history, or if he just knows himself well enough to be sure that that’s exactly what would have happened next.

“Of course,” Castiel replies. “It was also very memorable. Then we spent the rest of the day on the phone with Jody, Donna, Garth, Jesse and Cesar, pretty much everyone. We didn’t even call Crowley, but he turned up with a bottle of extremely old scotch, said congratulations, then vanished again.”

Dean closes his eyes as Castiel continues talking, telling him the rest of the story about how they ended up here. He breathes in and out, and just listens.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s been a week since they averted the end of the world and paid for it with Dean’s enchanted sleep when Sam comes into the kitchen and announces that they’re driving to California.

California? Castiel thinks over what he knows of Dean’s life from before they met. Dean has no connection to the state that he can think of. When he thinks of California, he thinks of Sam, not Dean...oh. 

“For something that represents you?” he asks cautiously.

Sam nods. “Yeah.” He doesn’t offer any further information.

It’s a long way to go, especially considering that there must be closer things that Sam could have thought of to remind Dean of him. So he must have a good reason for suggesting the trip. Castiel trusts him. 

“Okay,” he says simply. “When do we leave?”

Sam grins at him, relieved. “Tomorrow morning,” he says. “I texted Eileen. She’s on her way here to stay with Dean while we’re away.”

That seems like an odd decision. “You don’t want to spend time with her?” he asks. He isn’t sure how much of a right he has to comment on Sam’s romantic life, which he only knows about from Dean’s occasional mentions of it. He and Sam are friends, yes, but they usually demonstrate their friendship through feats of reckless selflessness and sacrifice rather than through advice and support over matters of the heart.

“I will,” Sam says, a smile playing around his lips. “She’s been bugging me to visit the bunker anyways. She’s a legacy too, you know, like Dean and I. So she’ll get here sometime today, stay and keep an eye on Dean while we’re gone, and poke around all the Men of Letters’ books and artifacts in the meantime. And hopefully stay a bit longer once we’re back.”

“I look forward to meeting her,” Castiel says. And he does. He has met a few other hunters in his time on Earth, but not many. He wonders what it must be like, to know about the monsters and spirits that share the world with humanity, but not to feel the crushing obligation of destiny that the Winchesters do. Perhaps Eileen will tell him about it. 

“I’d better start packing,” Sam says, and leaves the kitchen with a little wave.

Castiel goes back to Dean’s room and sits quietly there for a few hours, just collecting time spent together, even if Dean isn’t truly present. He hopes that Dean can sense somehow that there’s someone else near him. He doesn’t wish for him to feel alone. Not now, and never again. 

It’s late afternoon when he hears the door to the bunker close and footsteps on the staircase. He considers going to greet Eileen in the war room, but decides against it. Sam may wish to say his hellos in private. And besides, he’s a guest here as well. It isn’t his place to welcome her to the Winchesters’ home. 

A few minutes later, he hears voices approaching. He stands up as they near the door, and Sam enters with a broad smile on his face, stepping aside to allow Eileen entry. 

She’s smiling as well, and Castiel immediately feels at ease with her. “Hello,” he signs, then offers her his hand. “I’m Castiel.”

“Angel of the Lord,” she says, just a hint of wryness in her voice. “You’re not what I expected.”

Castiel glances at Sam, who shrugs, an innocent look on his face. He wonders what Sam told Eileen about him. 

She’s moving closer to the bed now, studying Dean with a mixture of curiosity and compassion. “He’s been like this for a week?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, standing across from her so she can read his lips. “We’ve got the spell to wake him up, but it takes time, and seven objects of importance in his life to bring him back.”

“Which is why you’re going to California,” she finishes. “Right. Doesn’t look like it will be hard, looking out for him. I’ll just read through as many lore books as I can in here while you’re away.”

“Thank you,” Sam says softly, and the look on his face makes Castiel feel as though he’s intruding on a private moment.

Sam must realize the same thing, though, because he casts a guilty look at Castiel and steers Eileen out of the room. “Let me show you to your room, and the library, and…” his voice fades as they disappear down the hallway.

Castiel smiles to himself and sits back down beside Dean. “She seems lovely,” he tells him. “And she makes Sam happy, I can tell. You would be teasing him right now, I’m sure, but also making sure they both knew how happy you were for them.”

It’s moments like this that he misses Dean the most. The happy moments, the ones that will become cherished memories in time. 

He wonders what it would be like if Eileen came to visit the bunker under normal circumstances. If the four of them went out for dinner somewhere, how they would arrange themselves at a booth or a table. If he would finally work up the courage to tell Dean in no uncertain terms how much he loves him. 

But Dean isn’t here, and the circumstances aren’t normal. Castiel sighs, tipping his head back against the wall. Perhaps he should try to get some rest. He and Sam have several long days of driving ahead of them.

Some time later, there’s a tentative knock on the door, and Sam sticks his head. “Hey, we’re going out for food, you wanna come with?”

The invitation seems genuine, but Castiel has no desire to intrude on their time alone. “No, thank you,” he replies. “I don’t need to eat, you know.”

One corner of Sam’s mouth turns up like he knows exactly why Castiel is declining to join them, but he just nods, accepting it for what it is. “Alright,” he says. 

“Have a good time,” Castiel offers.

With a brief “thanks, Cas,” Sam is gone.

Castiel makes himself comfortable in the chair. If they’re leaving in the morning, and they’ll be gone for several days, he’s going to spend the night here at Dean’s side. Where he belongs.

***

The next morning, Castiel figures he may as well be helpful, and has a pot of coffee brewing before Sam even wakes up. But it’s Eileen who finds her way to the kitchen first, likely following the scent of the coffee.

“Good morning,” she says as she pads into the room.

“Good morning,” Castiel replies. He’s about to ask if she slept well when he takes in her appearance. Her hair spills messily over one shoulder, a far cry from yesterday’s neat bun, and the plaid shirt she’s wearing is not only far too large for her, but also suspiciously familiar. 

She raises one eyebrow as though daring him to comment, and Castiel just smiles. “Coffee?” he offers.

She laughs, then, and takes a seat at the table as he pours her a mug. 

Sam joins them a few minutes later, fully dressed but with his hair still damp from a shower. He gratefully accepts the mug of coffee that Castiel passes him, and presses a quick kiss to Eileen’s cheek before busying himself making toast. 

It’s almost disturbingly domestic, the entire scene. Dean would love it, Castiel thinks sadly. He would have made them all an elaborate breakfast, though. They’ll have to make do with their own inferior cooking.

They eat in companionable silence, and Castiel is fairly certain that Sam and Eileen are holding hands beneath the table. It’s sweet, and for their sake he wishes they didn’t have to leave today, but Sam doesn’t seem too bothered. He knows what he’s coming back to. 

Sam checks his watch and drains the last of his coffee. “We should get going,” he says.

Castiel nods. “I’ll put our things in the car,” he offers. 

Sam looks at him with thanks in his eyes. Castiel stands to leave, but stops at Eileen’s gentle touch on his arm. 

“Have a good trip,” she says earnestly.

He smiles down at her. “Thank you,” he says. “And happy researching.”

He leaves the two of them to say their own private goodbyes and heads to Dean’s room to say a farewell of his own. He smoothes a hand over Dean’s cheek, more tenderly than he would dare if Dean were awake to feel it. “We’ll be back soon,” he says softly.

He leaves Dean’s bedroom and grabs their bags from the war room, carrying them down to the garage with ease. He tosses them in the trunk and then waits, leaning against the Impala, relishing the last few minutes of quiet. 

Sam joins him shortly, still smiling to himself. He slides into the passenger seat without comment, so Castiel opens the driver’s side door and starts the engine. The car rumbles to life below him, and they’re off.

“It’s almost a twenty-four hour drive,” Sam says as they roll down the dusty road. “I figured we can do it in two days. Six hours driving for each of us today, grab a motel somewhere, then the same again tomorrow.”

Castiel nods. “That makes sense.”

Sam looks out the window, his expression wistful. “I remember the first time I made this trip,” he says softly. “Going off to college. On my own. On a bus.” He laughs. “I’d never felt so free.”

“Were you afraid?” Castiel asks tentatively. He knows so little about Sam’s early years, his time away from his family. 

“No,” Sam says. “I was a lot of things back then, but afraid wasn’t one of them. I thought I was getting everything I ever wanted. I thought I was getting away from the monsters, away from the scary things.”

“You did, though,” Castiel points out.

Sam’s smile turns sad. “Not for long.”

They go quiet for awhile after that.

They stop after about two hours to get gas, and while Castiel fills the tank, Sam slips inside to grab them each another cup of coffee. He returns with two paper cups and a pair of mirrored sunglasses, which he hands to Castiel with a grin. 

“We’re going to California, you should look the part,” he tells him, handing them over.

Castiel dutifully puts the sunglasses on. “What about you?” he asks.

Sam laughs and reaches into the car, pulling out a pair of his own. “I’ve still got plenty left from the old days,” he jokes, pushing them onto his face.

Now that they’re suitably accessorized, they continue the drive. It really is beautiful, traveling west along the I-80. The sun is bright, the breeze is crisp, and the road is smooth. Sam looks relaxed, his hair blowing wildly around his face.

Nevertheless, it’s not until they’ve switched places and Sam is taking his turn at the wheel that Castiel works up the nerve to ask him exactly what it is they’re driving all this way for. 

Sam sighs. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to asking that.”

Castiel instantly regrets his nosiness. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to,” Sam replies, “but it’s...difficult, in some ways.”

So Castiel won’t push him on this. “It’s fine.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Sam sends him a grateful smile. “I’ll explain when we get there. But for now, I say we just enjoy the trip.”

Castiel rummages around under his seat and finds the box of cassettes again. He pulls out another of Sam’s old mixes and puts it on. The music covers up any silence that might otherwise turn awkward.

***

After a night in a cheap motel and another full day of driving, they arrive in Palo Alto.

They grab another motel room, booking two nights. Sam’s still quiet as to what exactly they’re here for, but he says they should get it at night, and they could both use a full day without driving. 

He goes to bed not long after they arrive, throwing himself down on the bed and falling asleep almost instantaneously. Castiel stays awake, restless and watchful. 

Their motel has a pool, a sure sign that they’ve left the Midwest behind. All the motels have pools here, Sam told him, even the ones in their budget. It’s California, after all. 

There’s a flimsy metal gate barring the entrance to the pool, and Castiel pushes through it easily. It’s just past two in the morning, and none of the lights are on in the rooms. He strips off his clothes and leaves them puddled on the concrete, then slides into the water with ease. 

He never learned to swim, technically, but maybe muscle memory from Jimmy Novak takes over, because he’s cutting through the water with little effort, relishing the way it feels around him. It’s soothing and invigorating at the same time. It reminds him of flying, the way his body adapts to the element around him. He misses flying, of course, but he wonders if he might miss it less if he made time to swim more frequently. 

He stops in the middle of the pool, just treading water, and looks up at the night sky. The air is cool without the heat of the sun, and he shivers slightly. He imagines Dean here with him, wrapping his arms around him from behind, holding him closely against his chest. Probably splashing the water at him mischievously, his eyes sparkling even in the darkness. 

Suddenly lonely, Castiel swims over to the edge of the pool and pulls himself out. He wraps himself in the towel he brought with him and heads back to the room.

Sam stirs when he enters the room, years of instinct preventing him from ever sleeping too deeply. “It’s just me,” Castiel whispers, and Sam rolls over and goes back to sleep. Castiel envies him, in that moment. He wishes he could find rest so easily.

He sits in the chair by the window and waits for the sun to rise.

In the morning, he walks down along the street and finds a small cafe. He buys coffee and muffins, still warm from the oven, and brings them back to the room just as Sam is waking up. 

“I brought breakfast,” he announces as he enters.

Sam sits up and stretches, then covers his mouth as he yawns. “That’s great, Cas,” he says. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, then I’ll be out.”

When he emerges, he’s wearing just a plain white t-shirt with his jeans, and his feet are bare. He looks younger, more relaxed, like just being back here is bringing him closer to the person he was when he attended school here all those years ago.

He doesn’t look like a hunter.

Sam takes a sip of his coffee and hums in appreciation. “So much better than the gas station stuff,” he comments.

Castiel nods. He enjoys the taste of coffee, generally, but this is significantly higher quality than what he’s used to.

Sam fiddles with his cup for a minute, then sets it down. “Look, Cas, I wanted to say thank you,” he begins.

Castiel frowns at him. “What for?”

“For being so patient with me while I’ve been avoiding telling you why we drove all this way.”

Castiel suddenly becomes much more interested in the conversation. Does this mean Sam is going to tell him now?

Sam notices him perk up, and laughs. “I knew you were dying to know,” he says. “But you’re too cautious to ask.”

“I trusted that you wouldn’t make us drive this far without a good reason, yes.” But he does want to know that reason. Soon, preferably.

Sam pushes his hair away from his face. “I thought about it for a long time, what would be best to use to remind Dean of me. There are so many things, you know? The amulet, for one. But then I thought, no, remember how long he didn’t want to see it anymore? Remember how long it hurt him, thinking I didn’t care about him as much as he cared about me?”

Castiel nods. He doesn’t want to interrupt Sam now that he’s finally ready to talk. 

“And I was running through lists of things in my mind, and I kept coming back to this one thing.” Sam swallows roughly before continuing. “It seems weird at first, because this place is the one place that I don’t have memories of Dean. Other than the very last days I spent here, of course.”

“Yes, I had been wondering about that,” Castiel admits. Why Sam would take them somewhere that he and Dean never spent so much time together. Somewhere that represented Sam’s desire to be away from his family. His desire to be away from Dean.

Sam’s eyes go distant. “When I first got here, I was so excited. It was so different from what I was used to. So many people. Talking to them to get to know them, not because they might have information about a case. I loved it, and I didn’t want to forget a single second of it. So I started keeping a journal.”

Castiel’s eyebrows go up. “Like your father’s journal?’

“Exactly, but instead of information about wendigos and vampires and vengeful spirits, it was about professors and classes and midterms,” Sam laughs. 

“So what does this have to do with Dean?” Castiel wonders aloud.

“The more I wrote it down, the more I realized it wasn’t just for me that I was writing it,” Sam answers quietly. “I was in the middle of describing a sorority fundraiser, some bake sale thing, when I realized I had written “ _you would love it, Dean_.” I was writing all these things down so I could tell Dean about them someday too.”

Oh. It all makes sense now. Castiel feels a sudden burst of affection for Sam, for his basic goodness, his generosity, his devotion. “You never stopped thinking about him.”

“Never,” Sam says firmly. “I know it looked that way, and I know it hurt Dean when I left. Maybe that’s why we didn’t talk as much as we should have. I felt guilty for leaving him behind, even though I know I did the right thing for me at the time. But I still missed him, every single day.”

“And that’s what we’re here for? The journal?” It’s an excellent idea, now that he knows about it. Proof that Sam loves his big brother with all his heart, despite the way Dean doubts it at times. 

Sam nods. “It was in the apartment when…” His voice trembles just slightly. “When the fire started. But it made it through intact. I just took off with Dean, after. Jess’ parents put a bunch of the stuff in storage. I should have been more involved, but all I could think about was my own grief, my own revenge.”

Castiel reaches out and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. He wishes he had known Jessica Moore. She must have been an incredible woman, to have had such an impact on Sam’s life. “I’m sorry if being here reminds you of her,” he says.

“It does,” Sam says, “but it’s okay. I miss her. Of course I do. I miss her every single day, and I will for the rest of my life. But I saw what it did to my dad, never dealing with his grief. I won’t be like him. Jess wouldn’t have wanted that for me, and I don’t either.”

He smiles, only a little sadly. “That was always her advice. Do what will make you happy. She never told me that I should get in touch with Dean and Dad, or that I shouldn’t. She just said I should do what would make me happy.”

Castiel thinks that’s what love is. Wanting someone to find their happiness, to choose it and embrace it, no matter what it involves. He’s glad Sam got the chance to experience that kind of love, even if it was so cruelly taken from him. 

“So, the journal,” he prompts.

“Right. It’s in storage, but I don’t have a key. I could probably track down Mr. and Mrs. Moore and ask for the key to get some stuff, but I doubt they’d want to talk to me at this point, and it might be uncomfortable for everyone. So we should probably just break in,” Sam concludes.

Castiel looks at him in surprise. “I thought you were all about talking,” he jokes, and he’s rewarded with a smile and an eye-roll.

“Good Dean impression,” Sam says. “And I know, I can’t believe I’m advocating a break-in over a simple conversation either. But it’s just a storage locker. It won’t be a problem.”

“But like you said, we should wait until night.” There’s no sense taking their chances during the day. They’ll sneak in under the cover of darkness, grab the journal, and be back on the road tomorrow morning. “So what are we going to do all day?” he asks.

Sam bites at his lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I was thinking of going to visit Jessica’s grave,” he says.

It makes sense. Sam probably hasn’t been in this part of the country in years, and of course he would want to pay his respects. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Sam shrugs. “If you want to, sure.”

Castiel studies him for a moment, but he can’t determine how serious Sam is. “Sam,” he says, “you do remember that I am not human, correct?”

“You do make it pretty hard to forget that, yeah,” Sam replies.

“So you should know, then, that you do not need to stand on human ceremony with me,” Castiel tells him. “I won’t be offended if you’re blunt with me. Do you want me to come with you, or would your prefer to do this alone?”

He’ll do whichever Sam prefers, of course. He can be supportive if necessary, or he can remain behind without feeling neglected. 

Sam relaxes. “I think I’d like to go alone,” he admits. “I...have some things I’d like to tell her.”

Castiel wonders if he’s talking about his new relationship with Eileen, or about how he’s hunting again, or some combination of those things and everything else. He nods. “Call me if you need anything.”

Sam smiles at him, grateful. “I will.”

After Sam leaves, Castiel considers his options for the day. He remembers how good the water felt the night before, but it’s daytime now, and he can’t risk using the pool in only his underwear. Nevertheless, he grabs his sunglasses and a towel and heads for the pool area.

He stops in the lobby along the way, where there’s a small shelf of books with a handwritten sign that invites guests to take a book or leave a book. He browses the spines, and finds a thin, well-loved volume simply titled _The Thief_ , about a young man who boasts that he can steal anything. It appears to be aimed at younger readers, but Castiel takes it with him anyways. Technically, he’s older than any of the intended audiences of these books, so why shouldn’t he read young people’s literature?

There are a few other guests enjoying the pool on this sunny day: a young mother and her toddler splashing in the shallow end, and an older couple with their arms propped on the edge of the pool, chatting amicably. Castiel nods to them as he sets his towel down on one of the rickety loungers, slides on his sunglasses, and rolls up the bottom of his pants. Then he sits down with his feet in the water and begins to read.

He spends a few hours there, and when he puts the book down and stretches, he realizes all the other guests have left, and he’s alone by the pool. He still won’t risk stripping down and climbing in, though. Someone else could join him at any minute, and Castiel doesn’t wish to cause a scene. Humans are so strange about what they do and don’t consider appropriate-- who can go bare-chested in public and who can’t, the difference between underwear and swimwear even when they show approximately the same amount of skin. 

The hard concrete is beginning to feel uncomfortable, so he goes back to the lounger and settles into it, adjusting the back until he’s almost all the way reclined. Then he closes his eyes beneath his sunglasses, and lets himself relax, enjoying the way the sun beats down on him.

He’s startled back into full awareness of his surroundings by someone trickling cool water over his face. He splutters and looks up to see Sam standing over him with a delighted grin on his face. 

“You look like a disgruntled cat,” Sam tells him gleefully. “I took a picture, by the way. Never letting you live this one down.”

Castiel will bear the indignity of this rude awakening if it means seeing Sam light up this way. He must be feeling more settled after his visit to Jessica’s grave. He certainly looks as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

He checks his watch and notes that it’s early evening. He must have needed more rest than he realized. But this means that it will soon be time for them to go.

Before they head to the storage unit to retrieve Sam’s journal, they stop for dinner at a local restaurant, a place Sam is happy to discover is still in business. He orders a vegetarian lasagna that would probably make Dean scowl on principle, but it arrives so covered in melted cheese that perhaps he would approve after all. Castiel sticks with one of their fresh fruit smoothies, enjoying the tangy flavour of citrus and berries.

It’s just starting to get dark as they leave the restaurant. Sam drives this time, taking them slightly out of the main part of town. The storage facility is large and anonymous-looking, every unit perfectly similar. “Easy pickings,” Sam mutters, expertly avoiding the view of the security cameras. Castiel stays back and lets him work, but he stays on alert in case any security comes prowling around.

They’re lucky enough to gain access unnoticed, and then Sam is rolling up the metal door as quietly as he can while Castiel remains outside, keeping watch. He glances inside briefly and sees piles of furniture, books, and other assorted odds and ends. Remnants of the life that Sam and Jess were building together. Sam handles them carefully as he sifts through boxes, and after about ten minutes of searching, he makes a triumphant noise. “Got it,” he whispers.

They close the door behind them, Sam clutching the journal tightly to his chest, and stealthily make their way back to the car. Once they’re safely away down the road, Castiel takes a look at the object of their quest. It’s a thick journal, leather-bound, but a lighter brown than the one John Winchester kept. It looks warm and well-loved. It looks perfect for their purposes.

“Worth the trip?” he asks Sam.

“Definitely,” Sam replies.


	9. Chapter 9

They make good time on the first day of their drive back to Kansas. Sam is relaxed behind the wheel, and Castiel thinks that this trip was a success in more ways than one. It’s probably something Sam should have done years ago, but never found the time to do. Or never thought he could take the time to do. He made the trip now because it was for Dean’s benefit, but it turned out to be a good thing for him as well.

These two will never cease to amaze Castiel with the lengths they’ll go to protect one another, and at the same time, their disregard for their own needs. He thinks they’re getting better about it, though. Maybe this can be a fresh start for all of them.

When they hit the twelve-hour mark, Castiel is behind the wheel. He follows Sam’s directions, or those provided by his phone, and pulls into a motel just off the highway. Once they’ve secured a room, they drop their bags, but Sam seems restless. 

“I saw a bar back down the road a bit,” he says, fiddling with the keys to the Impala. “You wanna go grab a beer?”

This motel doesn’t have a pool, so Castiel agrees. He gets the sense that Sam wants to talk about something, anyways.

It doesn’t take long. They’re tucked into a corner booth at the bar, the kind of nondescript establishment that nevertheless buzzes with a certain energy found only in places like this, cheerful despite the grime.

“So,” Sam says, and if he’s attempting to sound casual, he fails miserably. “How are you doing, Cas?”

It’s a very broad question, so he gives an equally broad reply. “I’m fine,” he says. “I quite enjoy the driving, actually.”

Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “Okay, fair enough. That’s not what I’m asking, Cas. I’m asking about your feelings. God, Dean would give me so much crap if he could hear us right now.”

Castiel fiddles with the label on his beer, picking at it with his fingertips. “I’m unsure how to feel,” he says finally.

“Okay, how come?” Sam’s tone is patient, just a hint of coaxing. Why he suddenly decided they needed to have this conversation, Castiel doesn’t know, but he does know that Sam is a good listener. Perhaps it will be beneficial to open up, in this case.

He takes another sip of his beer. “I miss Dean,” he admits. “And I know we’re doing everything we can, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It won’t feel like enough until he’s with us again.”

Sam nods. “I know the feeling,” he says. “But you said it yourself, Cas, we’re doing everything we can. He’ll be back soon. Just over a week now and we can do the spell.”

“And then what?” Cas bursts out. He doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t want to bare his insecurities to Sam, this isn’t part of the plan, but it just happened. Sam is too easy to talk to. 

Sam is also currently frowning at him, confusion evident on his face. “What do you mean, what then? Things go back to normal, I guess. Whatever normal is for us that week. We hunt, we hang out, we finally figure out how to get some balance in our lives, hopefully.”

That sounds wonderful, Castiel thinks longingly. “I’m sure you and Dean will manage,” he says, trying to keep the tightness out of his voice. “You deserve it.”

Even in the dim light of the bar, Castiel can see Sam’s expression turn from one of confusion to one of compassion. “I meant you too, Cas,” he says gently. “Not just me and Dean. All three of us.”

Castiel frowns. “Why would I be part of this scenario?”

“Gee, I don’t know, because you’re our friend? More than that, you’re family.” There’s no hint of levity in Sam’s tone. Castiel almost believes him.

He says nothing, just continues picking at the scraps of the label still clinging to his beer bottle.

“Hey,” Sam says, a bit harsher this time. “I can’t believe I have to spell this out for you, but Cas, you know the bunker is your home too, right? For as long as you want it to be.”

Castiel finally looks up and meets Sam’s eyes. The sincerity there takes him by surprise. He swallows roughly. “No,” he mumbles, looking away. “I didn’t know.”

He thought so, once before. And look how that turned out for him. He hasn’t allowed himself to hope for it again. A place to call home.

Sam sighs and signals to the server to bring them another round. She does so, her gaze lingering on Sam as she deposits the bottles on the table, but he isn’t even looking at her. 

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Sam continues. “Look, I know things have been weird between us. All of us. Me and you, me and Dean, and especially you and Dean. But trust me, Cas, there’s nowhere we’d rather you be than with us. Both of us.”

He remembers Dean telling him something similar, right before the end. To hear it now from Sam is convincing. If they both feel that he does belong there with them, perhaps it is true.

“I don’t deserve it, though,” he says quietly.

“What? A home? Of course you do. Everyone does.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Not after what I’ve done.”

Sam throws his hands up in exasperation. “We’ve all done stupid things, Cas. Most of the time, we had good intentions. We have to live with the consequences of what we’ve done, and the guilt, but it doesn’t mean we have to keep punishing ourselves for it.”

“Lucifer is free because of me,” Castiel retorts. “We have no idea where he is, what he could be planning. Dean is my first priority, but as soon as he’s well, I have to find Lucifer. I let him out, I have to deal with him.”

Sam flinches slightly at the sound of Lucifer’s name, and Castiel wishes he had been more gentle about using it. But Sam squares his shoulders and looks Castiel in the eye. “That was not your fault.”

“Sam, I am grateful for your attempt to relieve my guilty conscience, but yes, in this case, it was. I said yes to Lucifer, and brought him back into the world. It is entirely my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Sam argues. “Look. We went to talk to Lucifer because of visions that _I_ was having. Dean didn’t want to do it, but he agreed in the end, because I convinced him. And if I hadn’t suggested going there in the first place, you would never have been put in a position to say yes.”

“So you’re suggesting it’s your fault,” Castiel says skeptically. “I remain unconvinced.”

“No,” Sam fires back, “I’m saying, it isn’t about fault. Not on an individual level, anyways. We’re way past that. We know the world isn’t that simple, Cas. We can go back and argue causality from decisions we made years ago-- if Dean hadn’t taken the Mark of Cain, we wouldn’t have had to get rid of it, and I wouldn’t have gotten so hung up on curing him that we unleashed the Darkness, and we wouldn’t have needed to ask Lucifer for help in the first place. And we can go further back, and further, forever.”

Castiel frowns, but he thinks maybe he’s beginning to see Sam’s point. They may not be following God’s plan anymore, haven’t been for years, but there’s still a thread running through their history. Events don’t just happen in isolation. 

“So yeah, maybe you were the one who said yes to Lucifer,” Sam continues, “but it doesn’t mean it’s all on you to fix it.”

“We should just forget about him, then? Let him remain free?” That doesn’t sound very in line with the Winchester family motto.

“No. But we should deal with him together.” Sam’s voice is firm. 

Castiel has become accustomed to handling things on his own. It’s been a long time since he acted as part of a group. It pains him now, to remember the garrison. To think about how distant he is from the other angels now. But hearing Sam say that he has support again, that he has others he can count on, is a blessing he never expected to receive. 

“I understand why you did it, you know,” Sam tells him. 

There’s a new note in his voice. Castiel looks up, and Sam smiles sadly at him. “Why you said yes to Lucifer, I mean.”

He’s so selfish. Moaning about Lucifer, not considering Sam’s own history with him. Sam holds up a hand, shaking his head at him.

“I can see you beating yourself up over this, so just stop,” he says. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel offers. “I didn’t think how difficult it might be for you, talking about him.”

Sam shrugs. “It is difficult, usually. But it’s different with you, now. You understand.”

Yes. Castiel does understand. He wishes this wasn’t the thing that brought he and Sam closer together, but so be it. They share something now that few others do, both having been vessels for Lucifer. 

Castiel traces an abstract pattern on the table with his fingers. “He’s so powerful,” he murmurs. “There are many words we could use to describe him, but that’s the first that comes to mind. I could feel it the minute I descended into Hell. I thought…”

“You thought you were doing the right thing,” Sam finishes for him. “Yeah. I know. How can I blame you for that? Me, of all people.”

“But you said no,” Castiel points out. “He wanted you first. His true vessel. And you were able to resist him.”

“I had more personal experience with him,” Sam says. “And yeah, I resisted. But who knows how long that might have lasted? I might still have said yes. We’ll never know. Because you did it first.”

Castiel looks away, ashamed.

“Oh, hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” Sam hurries to assure him. “I told you, I’m not blaming you. Not one bit. Lucifer is old, and cunning, and persuasive, and like you said, powerful. And he did help, in the end.”

Somewhat, yes. They still don’t know exactly what happened after they sent Dean off with the soul-bomb in his chest, but Castiel is fairly certain Lucifer had nothing to do with Amara’s final defeat. So in the end, was it all worth it?

“I still hear him,” he admits to Sam now. “He mostly left me alone, used my body as he saw fit and let me retreat to a corner of my own mind. But sometimes I heard him, or saw through his eyes. I still feel…”

He searches for the right word. “Unclean?” Sam suggests. There’s a look on his face that says he knows the feeling all too well.

Castiel nods. “Yes. Tainted.”

Sam sighs. “I felt that way for a long time too,” he says. “Even before Lucifer, you know, with all the lead-up, the yellow-eyed demon and the psychic crap and yeah, eventually, the demon blood.”

Castiel doesn’t often think about those days. The first year he knew Sam and Dean, how different they all were. How little he trusted Sam then. 

“And then I learned I was Lucifer’s true vessel,” Sam continues, “and I thought to myself, it all makes sense now.”

“But being his vessel was no indication of your own place of the scale of good to evil,” Castiel reminds him. “It was just Heaven’s design.”

“Yeah, and we didn’t know how screwed up Heaven was at that point either. I thought that’s exactly what it meant, Cas. That I was bad, and wrong, and the devil and I were made for each other. But it wasn’t true.” Sam’s voice is quiet, but intense. “And it isn’t true about you either. You’re not evil, or tainted, for having let Lucifer in. You made a choice, and maybe it was a bad one. And we carry our choices with us for the rest of our lives. But you can also choose to move past it.”

“Is that what you did?” Castiel asks.

Sam nods. “It took time. A long time. And seeing him again, hearing his voice, yeah, it brought up a lot of bad memories. But it also reminded me that just because I was Lucifer’s vessel, doesn’t mean he and I were the same. I saw him, separate from me, a distinct entity, and that gave me clarity. Enough of it to say no to him. To not let him back in.”

“And you think I can do the same?”

“Absolutely,” Sam states.

“And what if he ends up causing even more damage than Amara did?” Castiel asks. “What then?”

“Then we find a way to stop him,” Sam says simply. “He’s been quiet so far. We’ll keep our eyes open, do some digging. See if we can come up with a way to track him. Maybe we can get ahead of him this time. I told you, Cas, he’s _our_ problem. And we’ve beaten him before.”

“ _You’ve_ beaten him before,” Castiel corrects. “Twice. At Stull. And after, when he was in your head.”

Sam shakes his head. “That second time, you saved me, Cas. I don’t know if I ever thanked you properly for that. I would have died. I’m sure of it.”

Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but Sam cuts him off. “I know what you’re going to say. I wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t torn down the wall in my mind in the first place. Doesn’t this just prove my point, Cas? We’ve been going around and around with Lucifer for years now. Both of us.”

“And yet here we are,” Castiel murmurs. “Alive, and mostly well.”

It is rather amazing, when he stops and thinks about it. How much they’ve all dealt with for so long. And yet they’re still here, and still fighting. He would wonder where they get the strength, but he knows the answer: it’s from each other.

“I think it’s about time we deal with Lucifer once and for all,” Sam says. “Lock him away and throw away the key, so to speak. For good this time. Do our best to stop thinking about him. He’s the definition of vanity. There would be nothing worse for him than to be forgotten.”

Yes, Castiel rather likes the sound of that. He nods firmly. “After Dean is well, Lucifer is our next mission.”

Sam raises his beer and Castiel clinks his against it. “Deal.”

They each take a long drink. “Sam?” Castiel says hesitantly.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Thank you.” It isn’t enough, but it’s all Castiel can say. He didn’t realize how much he needed to talk about Lucifer. He feels the burden less heavily now, and he knows beyond a doubt that it will be far easier to deal with the devil with Sam and Dean’s support.

A broad smile spreads across Sam’s face. “No problem, Cas. If you ever need to talk about it, I promise, I’ll be there to listen.”

What a marvel Sam Winchester is. His life has been upended so many times. He’s fought so many battles, internal and external, and he’s suffered great loss over the years. And yet he remains so unfailingly kind and generous. So _good_. Castiel is honoured to know him, to be his friend. His family, by Sam’s own reckoning. 

They finish their drinks, and Sam lays enough cash on the table to cover their bill. When they get back to the motel, Sam gets changed for bed while Castiel flicks lazily through the channels on TV, but nothing catches his interest.

“You getting any rest?” Sam asks as he climbs into bed.

Castiel shrugs. “Some nights more than others.”

“Give it a try,” Sam advises. “I know it isn’t really sleep, but I think it’ll be good for you anyways.”

“I’ll try,” Castiel promises. “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Night, Cas.”

He doesn’t follow Sam’s example or his advice, though. He sits in the chair by the window instead, thinking. Brooding, Dean would call it. 

He wonders what Dean would have said if he had discussed his plans for hunting Lucifer with him rather than with Sam. Would Dean have supported him as well? Probably, but he would have shown his support with more yelling. He only bothers yelling about things he cares about. 

Castiel thinks he can count himself as part of that category, _things that Dean cares about_. He hopes so. Perhaps not in the way he wishes, the way he cares about Dean. But Dean did tell him that he was the best friend the Winchesters had ever had. Both of them have called Castiel family, and he knows how much that word means to them. 

They don’t use it lightly, and so Castiel will not take it lightly. This is his family, and he will protect them, and trust them, and allow them to do the same for him. They will deal with Lucifer. Together. Just as soon as they’re all conscious and reunited. 

With that thought in mind and a new determination in his heart, Castiel lays down to rest. He’ll need his energy in the coming days. They have a lot to accomplish.


	10. Chapter 10

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Dean knows, he’s back on the path, and the house he shared with Cas is nowhere in sight.

But how could he have fallen asleep if he isn’t even really here-- Dean tries not to think about it too much. It’ll just make his head hurt. He doesn’t make the rules here, that much is clear. So he just sighs and starts walking.

After about ten minutes, the path branches off again. Dean peers in each direction, but doesn’t see anything that stands out. Just as he expected. He sighs and goes to the right this time, just for a change.

Within a few steps, the scene around him is dissolving, and he finds himself sitting on a dock, looking out over a very familiar lake. 

“What the hell,” he mutters. This place again?

“Now what?” he hears Castiel say, and Dean turns quickly to his right and sees the angel sitting beside him, fishing rod in hand.

They’re sharing this place. Dean’s quiet spot, his happy place, and this time Cas is actually with him, not just in his dreams. Well, this whole thing is kind of like a dream, but that’s beside the point.

“Uh, nothing,” Dean stammers, returning his attention to the water. “Thought I felt a nibble, but it must have decided against it.”

“Mmn,” Cas comments, tipping his head back to lean against his chair. “You don’t have to pretend, Dean. The fishing’s just an excuse. I know you just like being out here, soaking up the sun like a lazy cat.”

Dean snorts. “Like you’re any different,” he says haughtily. “Look at you, you’re practically purring.”

Cas rolls his head to the side lazily, and Dean can feel his gaze even through the sunglasses they’re both wearing. “I’m happy,” he says, and when did he learn to be so direct about his feelings? He definitely didn’t pick that up from Dean. 

“Yeah, me too,” Dean replies softly. He doesn’t know the details of this scenario-- if they’re retired, or just between hunts, how long they’ve been together. But he and Cas are both here, and alive, and they are together. That’s the common thread running through all of this visions Dean’s been experiencing. 

Almost like someone’s trying to tell him something. Something he already knows, has known for years, but has been too afraid to acknowledge. _Cas is it for me_.

He wonders what would happen if he said that out loud. Is that the point of this exercise? Is he supposed to learn his lesson, and then he’ll be allowed to go home? It’s worth a shot.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, nudging the other man’s foot to get his full attention. “You know you’re it for me, right?”

Cas favours him with a sweet smile. “I know, Dean.”

Dean waits, but nothing happens. Cas just keeps smiling at him, and Dean isn’t replying, and why isn’t this working, why can’t he just get back to his real life, to the real Cas, so he can kiss him senseless and maybe, just maybe, says those words for real.

He swallows roughly and stands, letting his fingers trail over Cas’ shoulder as he brushes past him. “I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” he says.

Cas hums in acknowledgment, and though it’s hard, Dean turns away from the sight of him and walks down the dock. He looks back once, only the top of Cas’ head visible, and then he steps off the dock and back onto the path.

He walks away.

_Rest_ , Amara said before sending him here. And yeah, that sounded nice at the time. He’s gotten a chance to see what life could be like for him and Sam and Cas, and it has certainly been educational. But if she thought this would bring him comfort, she was wrong. For all that she might have had good intentions, she just doesn’t feel things the way that humans do. Putting Dean in this place hasn’t brought him peace. Not yet, anyways.

But maybe it has shown him the way to bring that peace into his real life when he finally gets out of here. If so, he’s going to send Amara a fruit basket. Metaphorically, of course, because she only eats souls, and he has no clue where the hell she and Chuck ran off to anyways.

Dean keeps walking, and the path goes in only one direction for quite some time. It makes him think of another path, another place-- that time he and Sam found themselves in Heaven after getting shot in their motel room. What was that, seven, eight years ago? And yet Dean remembers it perfectly. 

It hadn’t been a fun trip, that’s for sure. All of his memories contrasted with Sam’s, the different values they obviously placed on family, the sharp contrasts in what represented happiness for them. 

He wonders what Sam would see if he were here. 

But this is obviously different. Heaven showed them real things, memories from their pasts. None of the things Dean has seen have happened. Not yet, anyways. He can’t tell if they’re things that are going to happen, or just things that _could_ happen. Either way, this place is future-oriented.

It’s weird, considering that Amara is supposed to be the embodiment of emptiness, nothingness. And Chuck, or God, or whatever, is pure creation. It seems a bit backwards. But Dean might be the first person in all of existence to ever visit both of these places. No wonder nobody has wrestled with that thorny issue yet. And you can sure as hell bet it won’t be him. If he ever gets out of here, he’s not wasting his time on metaphysics. 

The path continues to lead straight ahead, so Dean keeps walking. Soon enough, the field around him starts to shimmer, and he knows he’s about to get another glimpse of his possible future. 

He finds himself standing in front of a small house, but not the one he shared with Cas in that earlier vision. Does this mean this is a different timeline altogether, or just later in that same sequence of events? He looks down and sees that he has his duffel in hand, like he just came back from a hunt. Frowning, he turns to look at the driveway, and is surprised to see a small, inconspicuous grey car parked there. 

“What the hell,” he murmurs. “Baby, where are you?”

There’s a garage attached to the side of the house, so Dean enters the keycode (and yeah, it’s a bit freaky how he knows it) and sighs with relief when he sees the Impala parked inside. He runs a hand over her hood, grounding himself. This is weird.

He lets himself into the house and flicks on the lights in the entranceway. “Hello?” he calls out. He has no idea whether to expect a reply. Maybe he lives here alone.

But he hears footsteps from upstairs, and then Cas is coming down the stairs towards him, straight into Dean’s arms without even a word in greeting. “Hey, Cas,” Dean says, holding him close. “Miss me?”

“Of course,” Cas says, pulling back far enough to give Dean a brief kiss. “I am surprised that you didn’t beat me back here, though.”

“Yeah, well, driving just ain’t the same when it’s not the Impala,” Dean comments. “I know, she’s getting too old for everyday use, but I miss her.”

It’s strange, the way this place works. He gets put into these situations, and at first he doesn’t know the context, but it comes naturally to him the more he adjusts to his surroundings. And then the memories fill themselves in, giving him the necessary backstory.

Cas smiles fondly at him. “I know,” he says. “Let’s go to bed.”

When Dean goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, he almost curses out loud at the sight of his reflection. He’s gone almost completely grey, and there are lines on his face that can’t be explained by the stress of the job. Shit, how old is he? He pulls out his phone and looks at the date. 2036. That puts him in his what, late fifties? Dean lets out a low whistle. If that’s the case...actually, he looks pretty good. 

“Are you fretting over your wrinkles again?” Cas asks from where he’s already settled in bed. 

“Not exactly,” Dean replies. He finishes getting ready and climbs into bed beside Cas, who reaches up to turn off the lamp on his bedside table and then curls into Dean’s chest. Dean wraps an arm around him, amazed at how natural it feels. This is good. This is right.

“Sean and Maeve missed you,” Cas murmurs sleepily, and Dean instinctively knows those are Sam and Eileen’s kids he’s talking about. “They wanted to know why only I was there. I told them you were helping their parents fight the monster and I got stuck with baby-sitting. They said that was counter-intuitive, because I was the most powerful, so I should have just gone to take care of the demon.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why we put you on guard duty,” Dean replies. “Crowley gets in touch for the first time in years to warn us that a demon we exorcised ages ago got out of Hell and is coming for us? Made sense for us to be as far away from the kids as possible, you know?”

“Still,” Cas says. “I don’t like being separated from you.”

Dean drops a kiss on Cas’ forehead and tightens his arms around him. “I know, babe. But it’s okay. Demon’s sent back to Hell, Sam and Eileen are back with those troublemakers, and we’re here and safe.”

“And you’re sure it won’t be coming back again?”

Dean chuckles. “Nah, Crowley promised to cook up something extra special for it. It was a tough fight, but it’s over now.”

Cas props himself up on one elbow, and even in the dark Dean can see the frown on his face. “Tough fight?” he repeats. “Explain.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. But Dean can’t take it back now. “Uh,” he says. “You know, it wasn’t going to come after all three of us at the same time. So we split up, and I lured it away.”

“You used yourself as bait.” Cas’ tone is flat.

“Pretty much,” Dean says weakly. “Oh come on, Cas. Look. The thing was after Sam and I. He stayed with Eileen. If it got both of them, what about Sean and Maeve then, huh? It just made sense.”

Castiel doesn’t reply. He just unwraps himself from around Dean’s body and gets out of bed.

“Cas? Where are you going?” Dean sits up.

Cas pauses with his hand on the door and turns back to face him. “I understand your concern for your family, Dean. Our family. Of course I do. I just wish that for once in your life you would show at least a modicum of concern for yourself. Your recklessness hurts me, Dean. What would I have done if I had lost you? If I couldn’t even be there to help you? How would I feel then?” 

His voice breaks towards the end of his speech, and Dean starts to get up, but Cas shakes his head at him. “Don’t,” he warns, and then he’s gone.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers into the silent room. 

Cas is right, of course. Dean’s always been the first to throw himself into the line of fire for someone that he loves. But it isn’t the smart way to do things. And he’s so used to doing it because he thinks he doesn’t matter, that no one will miss him if he’s gone. He’s gotten better about that in recent years, but it’s hard to break a habit that deeply ingrained. 

He thinks about how he would feel if he knew Cas did something similar. He would be pissed too. They’re supposed to be in this together now. 

With that in mind, he goes in search of Cas. He needs to make this right.

He finds him on the back porch steps, wearing an old hoodie that Dean recognizes as one of his own. His hair is a wreck, and Dean knows he’s been running his hands through it like he always does when he’s stressed or thinking hard about something.

Dean drops down beside him, and counts it as a victory when Cas doesn’t move away. He doesn’t say anything, though, so Dean figures he has to be the one to get this ball rolling.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s a good start. “Hey. Cas, look at me, please.”

Cas turns to face him, and there are tear tracks on his cheeks. Dean’s heart breaks at the sight. Cas almost never cries. _Angels don’t cry_ , he told Dean once, _but I’ve never been quite like other angels_.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs. He reaches out and gently wipes the tears away. “I’m so sorry.”

Cas lets out a shaky exhale and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder. “I know,” he mumbles. “I’m still upset with you, though.”

Dean smiles and wraps his arm around him. “I know.”

Cas leans back so he can look directly at Dean as he speaks. “That was part of the deal, remember? No more self-sacrifice.”

And yes, Dean does remember, somehow. He and Cas finally getting together, and laying down the ground rules for their newly-established relationship.

“I don’t make dumb decisions that put myself at risk,” he says now.

“And I always come back to you,” Cas finishes. “I meant it, Dean. Always. But always won’t last very long if you get yourself killed when I’m not there to protect you.”

Dean nods. He was reckless, he knows that. Sam and Eileen already gave him crap about it. But it’s different with Cas, like it always is. He’s the one Dean has promised the most to. 

It’s a strange thing, knowing that Cas is going to outlive him no matter what. Dean’s getting older. But Cas isn’t. They haven’t really talked about it much, but it must weigh on Cas’ mind. What will happen when Dean does die, for good this time. Hopefully not because of a demon, though.

It’s not the time to bring it up now, though. He doesn’t want to upset Cas even further.

“Can we go back to bed?” he asks tentatively.

“I want to show you something first,” Cas replies. He points up at the sky above them. “You know the stories about the constellations?”

“Yeah, lot of heroes and stuff from Greek myths, right?” Dean isn’t sure what this has to do with anything, but if Cas wants to talk about it, he’ll listen.

Cas nods. “And stuff,” he repeats, his tone slightly teasing now. “I think you’ll be up there someday, Dean. The Righteous Man.”

Dean feels dizzy. They are going to talk about it. “I’m no hero,” he scoffs.

Cas looks at him fondly. “Of course you are,” he says. “I always knew the risks of falling in love with a human. Particularly one who leads as dangerous a life as you do. I know you’ll die someday, Dean. And you’ll be honoured in the skies for years to come, and I’ll find a way to be with you, no matter what.”

There’s a lump in Dean’s throat, and he swallows tightly. “But not yet,” he says.

“But not yet,” Castiel echoes. “We still have a great deal of living to do before then. So don’t be so quick to put yourself in danger, Dean. Please. For me.”

“Okay, Cas,” Dean agrees. What else can he possibly say? “For you.”

Cas stands and extends a hand to Dean, pulling him up beside him. His knees creak as he rises, and he sighs inwardly. He really is getting old. But that doesn’t mean it’s over for him yet.

They go back to bed, and this time it’s Dean who curls into Cas’ embrace, who lets Cas’ strong arms wrap around him and hold him tight and secure. This is what Dean wants, more than anything else in the world. To grow old with Cas. 

He just has to remember that when he gets back to the waking world.


	11. Chapter 11

When they get back to the bunker, Castiel grabs their things from the trunk and the backseat and waves away Sam’s offer of help. “Go on,” he says with a small smile and a nod in the direction of the door. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

Sam ducks his head, but not quite quickly enough to hide his blush. Then he practically runs for the door, eager to get back to Eileen. Castiel watches him go, shaking his head in fond amusement. 

He unpacks their things, and then heads to Dean’s room. He pauses in the doorway, desperately hoping that things will be different, but no. Dean sleeps on undisturbed. Castiel sighs and sits in the chair beside the bed. He brought Sam’s journal with him, and he lays it down with the other tokens. The pile is beginning to look significant. They’re well on their way to getting Dean back.

So he tells Dean that. “Hello, Dean,” he says. “We just got back from California. It was a good trip, in more ways than one.” He gently brushes a strand of hair off Dean’s forehead. “I’d like to go back there with you someday.”

He pauses, imagining it. He doesn’t know if Dean likes to swim. He suspects he probably never got much of a chance to. Maybe they’ll find somewhere with a pool again, or even make it to the ocean. Castiel thinks that swimming in the Pacific must be very different than swimming in a small pool outside a motel. He’d like to experience it. And as with most things, he’d like it even better if Dean were there with him. 

“We brought back the fourth token,” he continues. “It’s starting to feel like we’re making real progress. Only another week and we’ll have you back.”

Assuming, of course, that the spell works. That Rowena isn’t planning something else entirely. It’s difficult to trust her, or anyone, especially with something as important as Dean’s well-being. But what other choice do they have? It’s a risk that they have to take.

“I think things will be good when you get back,” he says, thinking back on his conversation with Sam at the bar the night before. “I think we’ve all used this time well.”

He would have preferred not to have Dean in this state, of course. But of all the ways their desperate attempt to stop Amara could have gone, if he wakes up with no permanent damage, Castiel will count them very fortunate indeed. 

The rest of the bunker is quiet, and he’s sure that Sam and Eileen have retired for the night. So there’s little else for Castiel to do. He wishes he was bold enough to lie down beside Dean on the bed, but it’s a liberty he isn’t sure he’s allowed to take. Just because Dean is asleep doesn’t mean that Castiel shouldn’t respect his autonomy. So he just sighs and makes himself as comfortable as possible on the chair. 

One more week.

***

Eileen finds him there the next morning, knocking lightly on the side of the door before stepping into the room. “I made coffee,” she says with a soft smile.

Castiel returns the smile. “Thank you.”

He follows her out into the kitchen, where Sam is pouring himself a bowl of cereal. “Morning, Cas,” he says cheerfully. “You want anything to eat?”

“No, thank you, Sam.” Castiel heads directly to the coffee and grabs a mug. He sits down at the table, watching the easy way Sam and Eileen move around each other in the kitchen like they’ve been doing this for years.

Once they’re all seated at the table, it’s Sam who brings up their next target. “So, I was thinking,” he begins eagerly. “We’ve got plenty of things that remind Dean of other people, and of things in his past. But I would really like for us to have more things that speak to who he is now.”

Castiel nods. This is a sound observation. “Was there something in particular that you had in mind?”

“Yeah, actually.” Sam reaches into the pocket of his sweatshirt and drops the keys to the Impala onto the table. 

Eileen frowns at them. “Car keys?” she asks skeptically. 

Sam and Castiel trade amused glances. “I don’t think you’ve fully witnessed the strange yet moving relationship that Dean has with his car,” Sam tells her.

“Apparently not,” she says.“But if you think it’s a good idea…”

Sam turns to Castiel, inquisitive. “What do you think, Cas?”

It’s an interesting proposition. The car has been many things to Dean over the years. A constant companion, a shelter, a project, a place to sleep at night. 

“I think the association is a good one,” he says slowly, “but maybe there’s something from the car itself we could use? The keys seem a bit removed.”

Sam laughs, shaking his head. “That’s kind of the point.”

Both Castiel and Eileen look at him, bemused.

“If we took anything out of the car, Dean would kill us,” Sam explains. “Every time he fixes her up he puts her back exactly the way she was. I’m not risking messing anything up by pulling a piece of her off, not when the keys will serve the same function and are already separated from the car itself.”

Castiel can just picture it, Dean waking up, their happy reunion, then the look of dawning horror on Dean’s face as he realizes that they’ve tampered with his car in order to bring him back. The scowling and muttering under his breath as he immediately heads to the garage to put things back in order, crooning to the car as he fixes her up again. The idle threats he would make at Sam and Castiel for messing with her in the first place.

Yes, perhaps the keys are the best solution.

“I mean, obviously we’ll need them before it’s time to work the spell, but I think when the time comes, we should use them,” Sam concludes.

Castiel is convinced. “So that brings us to five objects, then,” he says thoughtfully. “Do you have any ideas about the last two?”

Sam’s face falls. “Not really,” he admits. “We’ve got another week, though, right? So as long as we’re not driving to California again, we should be okay.”

Eileen looks thoughtful, her gaze sweeping around the room. “Why are we always in here?” she asks.

Sam looks at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the library is way more comfortable,” she points out. “And the war room is more strategic. But we always end up here.”

“Because it feels like Dean,” Castiel says softly. He’s had that thought before. He’s impressed that Eileen picked up on it so quickly. She’s obviously very intuitive. 

She nods enthusiastically. “Exactly,” she says. “It feels like Dean.”

Sam still looks a bit confused. “Yeah, but how do we use the kitchen as a token?”

Castiel starts to explain, but Eileen beats him to it. “A symbol of the kitchen,” she says, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. “Last time I mentioned coming for a visit, Dean promised me all sorts of home-cooked meals. He sounded so happy about it.”

“He loves having people here,” Castiel says softly. “Loves taking care of them.”

Sam nods, finally catching on. “I remember, right after we found this place, how excited he was to have a real kitchen. Man, that was a good burger that he made.”

Having tasted Dean’s homemade burgers, Castiel can understand the look on Sam’s face as he thinks back on that time. They are one of the few foods that Castiel takes pleasure in consuming.

He looks around the kitchen now, thoughtful. What object would work best for their purposes?

“So, what? A spatula?” Sam asks, wrinkling his nose. “Gun in one hand, spatula in the other?”

The image is so perfectly ridiculous and yet so completely and utterly _Dean_ that Castiel starts to chuckle. Sam and Eileen join him, and they all have a good laugh, breaking the serious mood that they normally fall into when discussing Dean’s situation. 

As their laughter trails off, Castiel looks over at the counter, his gaze lighting on the knife block tucked under the cupboards. He considers it for a second, and then nods decisively.

“As much as I think the spatula would work, Sam, I have another idea,” he says.

“I’m all ears,” Sam says. “I really don’t think Dean would be impressed if he woke up holding a spatula.”

Castiel stands and walks over the knife block, examining it carefully. He withdraws one of the largest knives and brings it back to the table. “This.”

Sam touches it gently. “Yeah, sure, Cas, but why this?”

Castiel remembers another day in this kitchen, shortly after they lifted the attack-dog spell Rowena had placed him under. While he was still recovering from its effects. Sam was off on a run, and Castiel and Dean were alone in the bunker. Dean was making him soup. Taking care of him. Standing at the counter, chopping vegetables with this particular knife as he talked excitedly about what Castiel could expect from the next season of whatever show he was binging on at that point.

But that memory is precious to him, and he doesn’t particularly feel like sharing it at this time. Some things he needs to keep for himself.

So he shrugs and gives them an accurate but less detailed explanation. “You remember what we said about the gun, about how it has multiple purposes?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Not just killing things, but helping people. Saving them.”

Castiel nods. “I was thinking of something similar here. This knife looks dangerous. And it could be used that way. But Dean uses it to prepare food, which is something he does to show affection and care.”

“I like it,” Eileen says. “The tool is only a tool, but what matters it what we do with it.”

“Exactly,” Castiel says. “Yes.”

Dean’s hands are callused from years of handling weapons. He’s precise with a blade, whether chopping off vampire’s heads or chopping carrots for soup. He has small scars on his knuckles that Castiel thinks are beautiful, just like the rest of him. 

One corner of Sam’s mouth turns up. “It’s the intention that matters,” he says softly, echoing their earlier conversations about selecting tokens for the spell. “Yeah, Cas, I think you’re onto something here. Not just oh, Dean likes to cook. But the contrast…”

The side of Dean that not everyone gets to know. That the other angels never understood. The nurturer, the provider. The protector. Not just with a gun, but with a knife as well, just not in a violent way. 

“Okay, well, that was easier than I thought it would be,” Sam says. “That brings us to six, right? Just one more.”

“And we don’t even have to go anywhere for these two,” Castiel comments. “Though the waiting around here may become difficult as the full moon draws closer.”

“If this is the last one, we’d better make it a good one,” Eileen says. “What have we missed?”

Castiel thinks back on the items they’ve collected so far: the branch from the house in Lawrence, the wrench from Bobby’s salvage yard, Dean’s gun, Sam’s journal of his time at Stanford, the keys to the Impala, and now the knife from the kitchen. They have to pick one last thing to paint as complete a picture of Dean as possible. But what?

Sam clears his throat. “Cas,” he says.

“Yes, Sam?” Castiel replies, re-focusing his attention on the conversation. 

“No, that’s what we’re missing,” Sam says. “You, Cas.”

Castiel frowns at him. “I don’t understand.”

Sam’s looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “How do we even begin to talk about Dean without talking about you, Cas?”

Eileen smiles at him, a little sadly. Castiel looks between the two of them, still confused.

“But I…” he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. He just can’t bring himself to believe that he could be something that would bring Dean home. They were at a fairly good point in their relationship when he left, yes, but that doesn’t mean...

“You’re one of the most important people in his life,” Sam points out. “Hell, maybe the most important. Don’t you know how much he cares about you, man?”

“I don’t know what gave you that impression, Sam,” Castiel says tightly.

Sam scoffs. “Oh, I don’t know, years of watching the two of you dancing around each other, both too scared to make a move?”

“We haven’t been dancing,” Castiel mutters under his breath.

“Not literally,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Come on, Cas. I know you love him, okay? I’ve known for a long time.”

Castiel’s throat feels dry. “Be that as it may, that’s my feelings you’re talking about, not Dean’s.” He can’t bring Dean back just through the force of his own affection for him. If he could, they would have had him back five minutes after Amara cast the spell on him.

“You really don’t know,” Sam says in disbelief. “The two of you are ridiculous, I swear. Cas. I know my brother. I can promise you, you are one of the important people in his life, and one of our best chances of getting him home.”

Castiel knows Dean cares about him, yes, but the way Sam’s talking, it’s almost like something else. Something more. 

He looks at Sam across the table, and Sam’s face softens. “It’ll be okay, Cas. Trust me on this.”

He can’t let Dean down. He will do this, for him. He will take a chance. He will choose to have hope. 

“Alright,” he says quietly. “The last token will represent me.”


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel drives to Illinois alone.

Once Sam convinced him that they needed a contribution that represented him, Castiel thought long and hard about what would work best. They’ve been through so much together, he and Dean. How could he possibly sum up all of their history in a single object?

But then remembers that they’re trying to convey a sense of Dean-- the most complicated, fascinating, layered, contradictory, _wonderful_ thing in existence-- with only seven tokens, and he realizes that it doesn’t have to cover everything. That it never could. It just has to be enough.

He leaves the next morning, five days before the full moon. It’s a long drive, but Castiel doesn’t need to sleep. Sam was ready to come with him, as they had collected all the other tokens together, but Castiel wants to do this alone.

“You sure you’re okay going by yourself?” Sam asks him now, standing in the garage with an arm wrapped around Eileen’s shoulder, watching as Castiel prepares to leave.

Castiel nods. “I have appreciated your company, and your support, these past few weeks. But I can’t deny that I would benefit from some time alone with my thoughts.”

Sam’s smile shows that he understands perfectly, and feels no resentment towards Castiel for leaving him out of this segment of their quest. “Drive safe,” is all he says.

“See you soon,” Eileen signs. Not for the first time, Castiel is thankful for his angelic ability to communicate in any human language. Sam grumbles, because he has to learn to sign the hard way, but he’s picking it up quickly. 

Castiel gives them a little wave and gets behind the wheel. He’ll miss them, but he won’t be gone long. Soon enough they’ll be reunited-- all of them, including Dean.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the landscape as he drives. He’s more focused on the sensation of the car moving, the rumble of the engine, the wind rushing through the windows. He’s gotten used to driving the Impala over the past few weeks, but this is the first time he’s driven her on his own. He feels closer to Dean now than he has since the last time they spoke.

It’s something about the way this car has soaked up years’ worth of memories. The way she’s been broken to pieces too many times to count, and yet rebuilt again and again. Because that’s what Dean does. He doesn’t give up on anyone, or anything. He may be rough with them at times, and he may lose himself to doubt temporarily, but he never gives up.

Castiel remembers how he used to consider that a negative aspect of Dean’s personality, his stubbornness. How he simply couldn’t understand why this one man refused to play by the rules set out by God himself. 

He’s learned so much since then. He’s changed so much since then.

The other angels never understood this, how much humanity had to teach them. They may have protected humans because God charged them to do so, but they never truly cared about them. Maybe they were never supposed to. But Castiel did. Does. Will continue to do so, no matter the consequences.

He has struggled for a long time, trying to determine his place in this universe. He’s gone from angel to human and back to angel again. Others have tried to use this against him, sensing that it’s something that causes him great doubt, that weakens and distracts him.

But as he drives back towards Illinois, to the place where an angel of the Lord first showed himself to the Righteous Man, all he can think is that it’s no bad thing to be one of the in-between people. To still be an angel, with all of the power and history that comes with such a position, but also to feel human.

To simply be Castiel.

The route that he’s taking towards the old barn also takes him past the house that once belonged to Jimmy Novak. He pulls the Impala to a stop outside the house, and watches it for a moment. There are lights on in the room at the front of the house, and he’s pleased to see that another family has taken up residence there. 

The house’s previous inhabitants did not meet particularly pleasant ends. But not all of them are gone.

He pulls out his phone and sends a message to Claire. 

“ _In Pontiac. Thought of you. How are you, Claire?_ ”

It’s mere seconds before his phone buzzes with a reply. “ _Urgh, why would you go back there? I’m fine, Castiel. But thanks for thinking of me_.”

It’s not much, but it makes him smile anyways. Claire isn’t running from him, or from her past. She’s learning to accept them. He knows his coming to earth and taking this particular vessel changed the course of her life, but he’s comforted to know that it won’t necessarily be a bad one, despite the hardship. She still has hope for a bright future, and that’s all he wants for her.

He drives away from the house, satisfied.

It isn’t long before he arrives at the barn, still as rickety and abandoned as it was all those years ago. The sigils that Dean and Bobby painted on the walls are still there, though faded. Some are barely discernible under a newer layer of graffiti. They had no effect on Castiel then, and they have none now, other than a trace of nostalgia that creeps through him as he brushes a hand over the wooden walls. 

He remembers being summoned here. Irritated that he, a celestial being, was forced to respond to the call of a human, even one with such an important role to play in the coming battle. Irritated that his own attempts to make contact had failed. 

And then, of course, irritated that the first thing that human did was stab him in the chest.

Now, the memory makes Castiel smile. Brave, rash, foolhardy Dean. Stab first, ask questions later. Neither of them could have predicted how important that meeting would be. For both of them. 

Castiel looks around the barn, wondering what he can bring back to use as a token. A splinter of wood from one of the walls, perhaps? The shattered remnants of the lights he blew out upon entering? None of them are particularly inspiring choices.

Perhaps it’s vain of him, but he would prefer something more glamorous. Something more impressive. Something that could truly convey how important Dean is to him. 

He thinks more about their first meeting. Dean was so suspicious, so unwilling to accept that Castiel could be anything but bad news for he and Sam. So guarded. And perhaps Castiel was not as soothing as he could have been, not as comforting. His bedside manner a touch too cold for such a delicate situation.

It really changed when he showed Dean his wings. When he revealed himself fully. 

This recollection sparks a sudden idea in Castiel’s mind, but then he dismisses it almost immediately. It’s arrogant, presumptuous, not what he came here to do.

But now that it’s come to him, he can’t stop thinking about it.

What if he didn’t use something from the barn, but something of his own? One of the feathers from his wings. 

The token is meant to represent Castiel, yes. But up until this point, he has still been thinking about himself only in relation to Dean’s story. About how their meeting changed Dean’s life and his worldview, forced him to accept the existence of angels and of God himself. A piece of wood from the walls of the barn would represent what Castiel represents to Dean, rather than Castiel directly.

But a feather…It would center Castiel himself. The angel who knows what it means to be human, and embraces it. There would be no ambiguity there. It would say, _Castiel is important. Castiel misses you. You need Castiel in your life just as much as he needs you in his. Please come home, Dean. Castiel loves you_. 

The only question is, is Castiel brave enough to make that statement?

He thinks back on the conversation he had with Sam and Eileen before coming here. The way Sam told him he knew that Castiel was in love with Dean. If Sam already knows, then perhaps on some level, Dean does as well. A small, secret part of him that only Castiel can reach. 

What if Castiel takes the safe way and brings back something less emotionally honest, and the spell fails?

He can’t allow that to happen. This is a risk he has to take, for all of them. 

It doesn’t truly matter if Dean feels the same way about Castiel. If he loves him as well. Castiel is not projecting that onto Dean, only acknowledging that he is important to him in some way. What he’s truly attempting to do is to demonstrate that Dean is loved. 

The other tokens tell of Dean’s personality, his likes, what he considers important, et cetera. But that isn’t enough to paint a complete picture of him. As he and Sam have repeated several times over the past weeks as they selected tokens, what matters is the intention behind each one. And with this token, they will say, _here is Dean, who is loved by Castiel_. 

And that in itself is a statement that contains multitudes. Here is a man, with all of his flaws and his strengths, who is loved by an angel. Who has been put to the test again and again and yet emerged stronger every time. Who is good and worthy of love. 

Because that’s what Dean himself forgets, sometimes. How worthy he is. How much he matters. And if Castiel has the chance to remind him of that, to use his own feelings towards Dean to show him that he is important, and valued, and yes, loved, then how can he possibly do otherwise?

He takes a deep breath and allows his wings to unfold, filling the empty space of the barn. He reaches behind himself and runs a hand loosely through the feathers. They’re still not as full and sleek as they once were, but they are healing. 

He finds a loose feather, and it comes free with a gentle tug. He cradles it carefully in his hands as he retracts his wings once more, tucking them away within himself. 

The feather is black and glossy. Much like the Impala, Castiel notes with some amusement. He examines it critically, and finds no flaw in it. Satisfied, he leaves the barn, and returns to the car.

His phone rings about five minutes later, when Castiel can no longer see the barn in his rearview mirror. He glances down and sees that it’s Sam calling, so he slows down and taps a few buttons, putting Sam on speaker.

“Sam,” he greets. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Cas, I was just calling to ask you the same thing,” Sam laughs. “But you sound good.”

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “I am.”

“You got what you needed, then?”

What an oddly fitting question. Yes, Castiel got exactly what he needed from this trip. He got some time to think, to be alone with his thoughts on the drive here. He got some closure on his relationship with the Novak family, and some reassurance about his relationship with Claire. He got the chance to reflect on himself, who he is and how he feels about Dean. And of course, he got the token.

“I did,” he tells Sam. 

“That’s great, Cas,” Sam says warmly. “So once you get back here, just a few more days to wait, and then we’ll be ready to cast the spell.”

And then they will have Dean back. Castiel believes this with every fiber of his being. How can they not be successful, after all their effort? They’re going to do this, and it is going to work.

“Just a few more days,” Castiel repeats.

“Alright, well, call us if you need anything else, and if not, we’ll see you soon!” Sam says. Castiel can hear the enthusiasm and optimism in his voice as well. This is going to work. They both know it.

“I’ll be home soon,” Castiel tells him, and then ends the call.


	13. Chapter 13

The last few days are the hardest. 

They have everything ready, and without the task of acquiring the tokens to distract them, there’s nothing left to do but wait. It’s only two and a half days from the time Castiel returns to the bunker until they can perform the spell, but it feels like an eternity.

Sam has Eileen to keep his spirits up, and Castiel is happy for them, truly. But it does make him feel even more alone as he sits by Dean’s side or paces the bunker’s halls. 

He just wants this waiting to be over.

Castiel spends the last night watching over Dean. He doesn’t even keep a clock in the room anymore-- he can tick away the passing minutes in his own head. Tick, tock, tick, tock, and still no Dean.

_Soon_ , he repeats to himself instead. _Soon, soon, soon_. 

Soon they’ll call Rowena, and she’ll answer. Hopefully. Soon they’ll gather all the other necessary ingredients for the spell, and prepare it according to her instructions. Soon they’ll watch and wait as she performs the spell. And soon, so soon Castiel can almost taste it, they’ll have Dean back with them.

He tells himself this all through the interminable night.

When Sam comes in to check on them, Castiel realizes it must be morning. “Hey,” Sam says softly. “You didn’t get any rest, did you.”

“No,” Castiel replies, standing. “But I don’t need it.”

“Stubborn,” Sam mutters under his breath, but there’s a fond smile on his lips. Castiel returns it as best as he can. 

“Have you already called Rowena?” he asks. He never bothered to give any thought to where she’s been or what she’s been doing for the past few weeks. He hopes she meant it when she said she would be here on the given day, and that she hasn’t run off to a tropical island somewhere with a rich older man she’s conned into indulging her.

“Not yet,” Sam replies. He’s not looking at Castiel, but at Dean. There’s concern on his face, but also a great deal of hope. It gives Castiel strength. 

“Call her now,” he suggests.

Sam tears his gaze away from his brother’s still figure and pulls out his phone. He dials, then puts it on speaker so both he and Castiel can speak with Rowena.

“I’ll be there this afternoon,” she says as soon as she picks up. Castiel appreciates the lack of her usual sarcastic commentary. It reassures him that she’s taking this seriously. “Try not to do anything rash in the meantime.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Sam asks. “Anything to prepare?”

“Not yet,” she says, her voice gentler than Castiel thought possible. “I’ll see you lads soon.”

She hangs up, and Sam puts his phone away, looking surprised that the conversation is over so quickly. 

Castiel lays a hand on his shoulder, comforting. “She’ll be here,” he promises. 

Sam takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “I hate relying on her.”

And Castiel knows it isn’t just because she’s been untrustworthy before, or because she’s a witch, or because she’s Crowley’s mother. It’s because Sam is accustomed to relying on Dean above all others. And in cases where Dean was the one in need of help, Sam is accustomed to being self-reliant. 

Castiel doesn’t put much stock in parables anymore. But if there’s a lesson to be learned from this story, it’s that it’s okay to need the help of others. A lesson that he hopes he and the brothers will finally learn. Maybe this time it will stick.

So he says this to Sam. “It’s not shameful to need help.”

Sam looks at him, ready to protest, but then looks at Dean, and visibly deflates. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

There’s a light tap at the door and Eileen slides into the room. Sam’s face brightens when he sees her. “Help comes in different forms, after all,” Castiel says quietly.

Eileen threads her arm through Sam’s and looks up at him inquisitively. “Everything okay?” she asks.

“It will be soon,” Sam replies.

Ah, yes. _Soon_. The word of the day, apparently. But there are still many hours to pass before they can attempt the spell.

“We need to go on a supply run,” Eileen says. “Dean will be hungry when he wakes up, I bet.”

It’s both a practical plan and an excellent distraction from the prospect of more sitting around and waiting. Castiel sends her a grateful look, which she acknowledges with a little smile and a nod. She really is a terribly impressive person, he thinks to himself. 

Sam, however, hesitates. “I think I’d like to stay,” he admits.

Castiel understands. Sam’s been at Dean’s side as much as possible, but unlike Castiel, he does need to sleep. He hasn’t spent much time alone with his brother. This is a good time for him to do so.

Eileen obviously understands as well. She tugs Sam down so she can press a kiss to his cheek, then nudges him towards the chair. “Keys,” she says, holding out her hand to him.

Sam passes her the keys to the Impala, and she looks at them for a second before tossing them to Castiel. “I only say this because he can’t hear me, but I don’t really get the big deal about Dean’s car,” she shrugs.

They drive to the bigger grocery store half an hour away from the bunker, because Dean always says the meat there is better. He and Eileen toss items into their cart with abandon, and he particularly enjoys the speed with which she gravitates towards the ice cream. 

“Get the vanilla as well,” he tells her. “Dean will want pie, I’m sure.”

She nods and adds it to the cart. 

They’re in line to pay when Castiel feels a gentle hand on his arm. “Hey,” Eileen says. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I’m glad I met you, Castiel. You’re a good friend to have.”

He doesn’t know what prompted this statement, but he’s grateful for it, so he takes her hand in his own and squeezes it lightly. “As are you,” he tells her. “I don’t have many friends, but I’m proud to count you among them.”

“Maybe you should join a book club,” she signs to him, slowing her movements so he can follow. 

A book club does sound nice. Maybe there’s something at the local library. It would be pleasant to read for the sake of it rather than to find information on the latest creature they’re hunting, or at least to find some balance between the two. 

“Maybe I will,” he answers, using both his voice and his hands.

She smiles, satisfied, and they pay for their groceries and then leave the store.

He waves away her offer to help him unpack, and he knows that she’ll go check on Sam instead. They’re good for each other, supportive without being smothering. 

Once everything is put away, Castiel cleans the kitchen from top to bottom. He doesn’t even use his Grace to speed the process along. It’s strangely soothing, the rhythm of washing dishes and sweeping floors and scrubbing countertops. Simple, humble, honest work.

This is his home. He will take pride in it. 

He’s just wiping down the surface of the refrigerator when he registers the sound of a knock at the bunker’s front door. Still carrying his damp cloth, he heads to the main room, where he runs into Sam coming from the opposite direction. There’s a combination of excitement and trepidation on his face, and Castiel is willing to bet that his own expression is similar.

Sam bounds up the stairs and opens the door. Rowena sweeps in like a debutante, but in sapphire blue rather than demure pastels. She nods to Castiel and sets a large bag down on the map table in the centre of the war room.

“Let’s get started, then, shall we?” she says.

Eileen joins them, and she looks at Rowena with a mixture of wariness and respect. The wariness, Castiel understands. He’s sure Sam has told her all about who Rowena is, and what she’s capable of. The respect puzzles him at first, but as they begin their preparations and Rowena proves herself to be competent, clear, and obviously knowledgeable, it begins to make sense. 

He doesn’t have to like her, but he can’t help feeling glad that she’s here now. They likely couldn’t pull this off without her.

Castiel diligently paints symbols onto the surface of the map table while Sam and Eileen create a circle of candles on the ground around it. Rowena mutters to herself as she prowls around the circle, adding pinches of ground herbs to every second candle. Castiel watches for a second, intrigued, but then re-applies himself to his task. They need to maintain their focus.

Finally, everything is ready. Rowena pulls her hair away from her face and ties it back. “Well,” she says. “Time to fetch the guest of honour.”

Sam and Castiel walk silently down the hall to Dean’s room. They pull the blankets back and lift him as gently as possible, then carry him back out to the war room. Rowena said it would be easier to do the spell out here, and the map table does make an excellent place to lay Dean’s body down. Castiel just wishes it didn’t look so much like a tableau at a funeral home.

Once Dean is laid out, Castiel and Sam return to his room to fetch the tokens. They bring them back to the others, and Rowena looks them over, nodding to herself as she examines them all. 

“You chose well,” she states simply, and Sam lets out a sigh of relief. 

“The theory of the spell, as I explained before, is to call Dean back to his body from wherever it’s wandering at the moment,” she says, taking up position at the head of the table. “Your seven tokens will act as guides. There are seven places for them to be laid, with particular significance: one at each foot, one in each hand, one on each side of the head, and one over the heart.”

“How do we know which token goes where?” Sam asks.

She shrugs loosely. “The same way you knew which tokens to choose,” she says. “Intention is what matters.”

“If we had known this before, we could have prepared,” Castiel says tightly. How could she leave out this important detail? They would have had three weeks to plan their strategy.

“Sometimes magic needs a bit of creativity,” she tells him. “Believe in each other, why don’t you. It just might make a difference here.”

Sam and Castiel exchange looks, and then begin to assess the tokens they’ve acquired.

“For the two at his feet,” Sam begins, “I think the branch from Lawrence and the wrench from Bobby’s will work best.”

“Beginnings, foundations, those who have come before,” Castiel muses. “Yes, that seems appropriate.”

“You joked about it earlier, but I think gun in one hand, kitchen knife in the other is the obvious one here,” Eileen chimes in.

Sam looks at her and nods. “You’re right. Tools of Dean’s trades.”

“And what about his head and his heart?” Castiel asks.

This is the hardest part. They’re left with Sam’s journal, the keys to the Impala, and Castiel’s feather. The head and the heart are often at odds, but at other times, they’re united. Castiel doesn’t know where to place the last three items.

“The journal and the feather represent you and I, Sam,” he says slowly. “Since they’re both tokens of important people to Dean, perhaps we place those by his head, and the keys over his heart?”

Dean does call the car Baby for a reason, after all. 

Sam looks at him, and Castiel can’t read his expression. Was his suggestion offensive somehow? He starts to apologize, but Sam cuts him off.

“You were close, Cas, but not quite,” he says gently. “Let me do it.”

Sam does know Dean best, after all. Castiel trusts him to make the right decision here. He steps back and watches as Sam arranges the final three tokens.

As predicted, the journal goes beside Dean’s head. Sam is never far from Dean’s thoughts. But then Sam lays the keys on the other side, and Castiel blinks, confused. That means…

Sam gently deposits the feather from Castiel’s wing directly over Dean’s heart.

“Don’t fight me on this,” Sam pleads. “Not now.”

Castiel bites his lip, unable to look away from the sight of that solitary black feather in the centre of Dean’s chest. The token is a symbol of his love for Dean, yes. He came to terms with that when he chose it for this purpose. But its placement is symbolic not of Castiel’s feelings, but of Dean’s. 

He does trust Sam. Sam wouldn’t take a risk on this. Not when the outcome is so important to them both. He looks at him, and Sam meets his gaze steadily. 

Well. It seems that he and Dean will have a lot to talk about. 

Castiel swallows, and then with great effort, nods once. Sam’s face relaxes, and he nods back.

They both turn to look at Rowena, who has waited surprisingly patiently during this near-silent exchange. “We’re ready,” Sam says confidently.

“Step back,” she tells them. “Outside the circle of the candles. Then light them all for me, please.”

The three of them move quickly to do as she says, and once the candles are all lit, Rowena takes a deep breath and gestures to them to stay where they are.

Then she raises her arms and begins to chant.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean’s back in the same field he started in, and again, he has no idea how he got here. 

Something feels different this time, though. Before, it was quiet, calm, almost completely silent aside from the breeze rustling in the grass. But now Dean thinks he can hear someone speaking, though they sound far, far away. He can’t make out the words or tell who the voice belongs to. Amara, maybe? It would make sense.

“About time,” he mutters to himself. “Hey!” he shouts, turning around, searching for any other sign of her presence. “Cut the crap. Come on out and talk to me.”

He’s not afraid of her anymore. He just wants to know what’s going on.

The voice gets a bit louder, and Dean closes his eyes, completely focused on it. It’s Latin, he determines. Strange. He doesn’t think Amara would speak Latin. She was locked up before it evolved, and only came back once its use was restricted to magic-users and college students. 

The scene around him dissolves, and Dean finds himself standing in front of his first house, the one in Lawrence. The one that burned. “What the hell,” he murmurs. He walks toward the house, wondering what he’ll find inside.

Before he can open the door, however, the house vanishes, and he’s suddenly in Bobby’s salvage yard, surrounded by rusted-out cars under a blazing summer sun. The changing visions he’s come to accept, but it’s never happened this quickly before. This feels more like a montage than a regular scene.

Obviously he’s onto something, because the next place he finds himself is the bunker’s gun range, his pistol in hand, raised towards the target. He looks down at it, shrugs, and pulls the trigger. 

He’s still in the bunker, but now in the kitchen. Neat trick, he thinks to himself. It would be cool to be able to magically travel between rooms like that. The bunker’s a big place, and everything’s so far apart. He’s got one of the big kitchen knives in his hands, and an assortment of neatly-chopped vegetables on the cutting board in front of him. Dean grabs a piece of red pepper and pops it into his mouth, chewing contemplatively.

These are all good things that he’s seeing. He can’t figure out any other connection between them, though. And they’re passing by too quickly for him to tell if this is the past, the present, or the future he’s seeing. 

Next he’s out of the bunker and behind the wheel of his beloved car. “Baby!” he exclaims, running his hands over her steering wheel. “It is good to see you.” He’s driving down a dark highway, and he can sense someone beside him in the passenger seat, but when he tries to see who it is, all he can make out is a shadowy form. He feels safe, though. The way he always does when he’s in this car.

And then Sam is beside him, and they’re laughing about something, and Dean just feels overwhelmingly _happy_. He doesn’t know what’s so funny, but he doesn’t care. Sam’s the first person he’s seen in this series of images, and he’s so glad that it’s a positive interaction he’s witnessing. They’ve had their share of rough patches, some that Dean thought they might never recover from, but this, this is what makes it all worthwhile. He and Sam.

Sam disappears, and Dean reaches out, trying to hold onto him, but someone else takes his place. Someone almost as familiar, and just as dear, but in a very different way. “Cas,” he says, his breath catching in his throat. Castiel’s trenchcoat is gone, but the backwards tie still hangs around his neck, and he’s smiling at Dean, the way he did every other time Dean saw him in this place. Like he loves him. 

Without even thinking about it, Dean leans forward. His lips brush over Cas’ quickly, but then Cas is gone.

“No!” Dean shouts. He kicks at the ground in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” someone says from behind him. Dean whirls around, and there she is. Amara. 

“Explain,” he demands. He is so pissed at her right now, he doesn’t even care that he’s being rude to one of the most powerful entities in the universe.

“They’re trying to summon you back,” she says, tilting her head to the side as though listening to the voice Dean can still faintly hear. “Do you want to go back?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I want to go back!” he says.

She looks at him for a long moment. “You have good things waiting for you there,” she acknowledges. 

And yeah, Dean knows that. He just saw a whole bunch of them flash before his eyes. His life is far from perfect, but it is good. 

“But there will be struggles, too,” Amara cautions him. “I brought you here to give you a respite from your troubles, Dean. You can stay here. Never feel fear or pain again.”

He shakes his head firmly. “No,” he declares. “This has been kind of nice, I’ll admit it. But it’s not real. So it’s not enough.”

“Then go,” she says. “I won’t see you again, Dean. Be well.”

He nods. He can’t think of anything else to say. She disappears from his sight. He isn’t entirely surprised that she didn’t apologize for yanking him out of reality and dumping him here without his agreement. She probably did have good intentions. She’s just never really learned to play by humanity’s rules.

The voice gets louder, more urgent. It’s familiar, but he still can’t quite place it. A few feet away, the air ripples, and a golden light appears.

“Guess I’m going into the light,” he mutters. He takes a deep breath and steps towards it. It surrounds him, and he flinches instinctively, but it feels warm and soothing rather than burning hot. 

Dean feels a jolt run through his entire body, and then everything goes still.

He opens his eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

Rowena finishes the spell, and the room goes suddenly, shockingly quiet. Castiel clenches his fists tightly at his sides and prays with every ounce of faith that remains in him that they will be successful.

A golden light shimmers in the air around Dean, and then disappears. He opens his eyes.

And in that moment, Castiel knows that everything will be alright.

Dean looks at them blearily, then his eyes focus. “Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse from disuse. “Miss me?”

Sam steps over the ring of the candles and pulls Dean into a rough embrace. “You’re such a jerk,” he says, his voice muffled by the way he’s buried his face in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s arms wrap around him in return, and he whispers something into Sam’s ear that has him nodding in reply.

Castiel and Eileen give each other small smiles, content to let the brothers have this private moment between them.

Sam steps back, gently helping Dean to his feet. Dean rolls his eyes but keeps Sam’s arm around him, steadying him. Supporting him, as they always do for each other. 

“Thanks,” Dean says, looking at Rowena. His words are simple, but sincere. He knows she didn’t have to do this. 

She inclines her head in acknowledgement, then with a wave of her hand, the rest of the candles blow out, and she leaves without another word. Castiel doubts they’ll see her again for some time.

“Glad to have you back,” Eileen says to Dean, breaking into a wide smile.

“Nice to see you,” Dean replies, then looks up at his brother with a mock-frown on his face. “Sammy, can’t believe you got settled down without me being here for it.”

Sam starts to protest, but Dean stops him with another look. He gently removes Sam’s arm from around him and steps towards Castiel.

“Hey, Cas,” he says. His eyes are so bright. So beautiful.

What else could Castiel possibly say? “Hello, Dean.”

Dean smiles at him, and the world is right once more. He steps forward, directly into Castiel’s open arms. 

Castiel wraps his arms around him, hugging him fiercely. Dean’s arms feel wonderful around him in return, strong and secure. He knows they have to talk about things between them, but this moment isn’t just for he and Dean. They’ll have time for that conversation later. For now, it’s about all of them. Reunited.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks, finally prompting Castiel to take a step back and let go of Dean. He stays close though, hovering beside him, personal space be damned. 

“Good,” Dean says, sounding surprised. “Sounds weird, but I’m okay.”

Sam just looks at him suspiciously, and Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know, I’ve said that before and it’s been a lie. But I promise you, I’m fine.”

Castiel stretches out a hand towards Dean’s forehead. “May I?” he asks.

Dean sighs and nods. Castiel lays a hand on his brow and checks for any signs of physical or mental distress. He finds none. 

“He really is fine, Sam,” Castiel announces. He’s incredibly relieved about it as well.

“Can we get out of here?” Dean asks, looking around the room and the scattered components of the spell. “It’s kinda weirding me out.”

“Of course,” Sam says immediately, coming forward to help Dean again, but Dean waves him away. The colour is returning to his cheeks. He’s already steadier on his feet than he was when he first woke.

They let Dean lead them, and so they end up in the kitchen. Sam looks at Castiel and winks. Of course Dean would want to be here. His favourite room. 

Dean lets out a low whistle as he looks around. “Damn, who went overboard with the cleaning supplies in here?”

Castiel flushes. “I don’t like waiting,” he mutters.

Dean squeezes his shoulder gently as he sits down at the table. “Nah, it looks great. Thanks for keeping things in order, Cas.”

“Of course,” Castiel replies.

Sam and Eileen join them at the table, and Sam leans forward excitedly. Now that he knows Dean is safe, his curiosity has taken the reins. “Do you remember anything from when you were asleep?” he asks.

Dean snorts. “Yeah. I remember everything.”

“What happened?” Castiel asks. They still don’t have an accurate picture of what happened between Dean, Chuck, and Amara.

“They talked it out,” Dean says with a laugh. “Can you believe that? They talked it out, and she healed him, and then they took off to who knows where on some weird cosmic entity sibling bonding trip. But first they defused the soul-bomb in my chest and she told me she wanted to give me what I needed most. Which was rest, apparently.”

“Hence the Sleeping Beauty routine,” Sam murmurs.

The look of shock and outrage on Dean’s face is exactly how Castiel imagined it would be. “Don’t ever call me that again, _Rapunzel_ ,” Dean threatens.

Eileen giggles, and when Sam turns to look at her, wounded, she just shrugs. “It’s pretty accurate,” she says, ruffling his hair.

Dean watches them with a fond smile on his face. “So then she sent me to some weird place. Kinda like her version of Heaven, I guess. It was restful, in a way. And now I’m back.”

There’s obviously more to the story than that, but Dean doesn’t seem ready to go into too many details yet. And since he appears to be unharmed, there’s no point in pushing him. He’s back, and he’s safe, and that’s all that matters.

“So what did you guys do while I was gone, other than go on cleaning sprees?” Dean asks curiously. “Wait, how long was I gone?”

“Three weeks,” Sam tells him. Dean’s face falls. Obviously he had no idea how long it had been. Time must have passed differently, wherever he was. 

“Shit,” Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That sucks.”

He must be imagining himself in their position, thinking about how worried he would have been.

“We kept busy,” Castiel offers. “Rowena figured out the spell from the first day, but we knew we had to wait until tonight-- the night of the full moon-- for it to work. But we had things to do in the meantime.”

Dean looks at him expectantly, but it’s Sam who continues the conversation. “We had to collect the things to call you back,” he explains. “Seven things that would tether you to this world, to this life.”

Dean gets a far-away look in his eyes, like he’s remembering something from that other place. “Did one of them have to do with our old house in Lawrence?” he asks.

“Yeah, it did,” Sam replies. “And Bobby’s yard.”

“Well, you did good,” Dean nods, apparently satisfied. “It worked.”

Then he yawns. “What the hell,” he murmurs. “You guys are telling me I just slept for three weeks and somehow I’m still tired?”

Castiel laughs. “Sleep is only the closest word we could find for it,” he explains. “You didn’t need to eat, your hair didn’t grow, nothing about your body changed, so it would make sense that you need to rest now.”

Dean starts to reply, but another yawn escapes. “Go to bed,” Sam suggests. “We’re all tired. We’ll all still be here in the morning.”

“You too?” Dean asks, turning to look at Eileen.

She flushes slightly, but holds his gaze steadily. “Yes.”

“Good,” Dean says, standing. “We need to give you a proper welcome to the family.”

Sam shakes his head, but he pulls Dean into another tight embrace. “Goodnight,” he says.

“Night, little brother,” Dean replies. “Night, Eileen.”

Dean leaves the room, casting a look at Castiel over his shoulder on his way out, and Castiel doesn’t think twice before following. They’ve waited long enough.

It’s not until they reach Dean’s bedroom door that Castiel hesitates. Dean must notice, because he stops, his hand on the door, and looks directly into his eyes. “Stay?” he asks pleadingly, and it’s all Castiel has ever wanted to hear.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods. Dean lets out a sigh of relief, as though he wasn’t quite sure how Castiel would respond to his question. But he was brave enough to ask it anyways, and that means everything to Castiel.

They get undressed in silence, and Dean wordlessly passes Castiel a pair of comfortable flannel pants to sleep in. It’s strangely easy, though they’ve never done this before. Dean climbs into bed and holds the covers back for Castiel invitingly. 

Castiel turns off the lamp and slides into bed beside Dean, who hums happily and rolls over, his back turned to Castiel. Castiel stares at the back of his head, confused. Why would Dean invite him here and then turn away from him?

“Idiot,” Dean mumbles, reaching behind himself and pulling Castiel’s arm over his waist. Oh. Finally getting the hint, Castiel presses in closer, his chest against Dean’s back. Dean holds tight to his arm, drawing it up to his chest, their hands clasped. 

And with that one simple movement, any of Castiel’s lingering doubts are erased. Dean wants him here. He wants him close. Not sitting nearby and watching over him from a respectful distance, but curled up right against him, no more space between them. Dean wants this. Wants Castiel.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Dean says softly. 

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. 

Dean’s breathing soon evens out, and Castiel closes his eyes. He’s exactly where he wants to be.


	16. Chapter 16

When Dean wakes up from his regular, human sleep, he’s in his own bed, with Castiel’s arms around him. It’s a scene that he might have experienced in Amara’s dream world, but it feels a million times better, because it’s real. He gently disentangles himself and rolls over so that he can look at Cas.

“Good morning,” Cas says quietly. He probably didn’t actually sleep, but he’s still endearingly disheveled, his hair messy and his eyes soft. God, Dean loves him so much. 

“Good morning,” he replies. 

“How are you feeling?” Cas asks, propping himself up on one elbow so he can take a better look at Dean. “Any lingering effects from the spell?”

Dean takes a second to check, wiggling his fingers and his toes, looking around the room to make sure his vision is clear. “Good as new,” he declares. 

Cas smiles at him then, pleased and proud all at once. “I’m very happy to hear that, Dean.”

Dean’s pretty happy about it too. He’s pretty happy about a lot of things. Mostly about the fact that he and Cas are curled up here together, and that neither of them appear to be freaking out about it. Dean’s oddly proud of himself for that one too. Look how far he’s come.

“So, I, uh, guess we should have that talk now,” he says. There’s so much that they’ve already confirmed without words, but he wants to do this right.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Cas agrees. He drops back down onto the pillow, one hand curled under his cheek. They’re both on their sides, facing each other, and it just feels so right, so natural, to be here together like this.

Dean takes a deep breath. He barely knows where to begin. Every time he imagined he and Cas finally having this conversation, it was a lot more volatile, a lot more charged, usually after an argument. But this is better, he thinks. They both already know how this conversation ends, they just want to have it anyways.

But before Dean can figure out what to say, Cas starts talking.

“I was so afraid that we had lost you,” he begins. “When we said goodbye in that cemetery, we thought it was the end. And then we found your body in the bunker, and it all became so real. But then we realized you were still alive.”

Dean can barely imagine how hard that must have been, for all of them. He reaches down between them and takes Cas’ hand. 

Cas squeezes it gently before continuing. “When Rowena explained the spell to us, Sam and I knew we had to choose items that truly mattered. Things that you cared about, that helped shape and define you throughout your life. It was his idea, using something that represented me.”

“Yeah, well, Sammy’s always been able to see right past my crap,” Dean says with a laugh. “Of course he knew how I feel about you.”

“I was afraid to use it,” Castiel admits, his voice trembling slightly. “I thought it was a risk. If he was wrong, if you didn’t want those feelings from me, and it somehow caused you to not come back, I never would have forgiven myself.”

Dean resolves to never let Cas doubt how he feels about him again. They have a whole life ahead of them now, and Dean will do better. Castiel deserves it.

“But you did it anyways,” he says softly. “You took a chance.”

Cas nods. “I needed you to know that you are loved.”

Dean closes his eyes for a second, overwhelmed. The trust Castiel placed in himself, in Dean, in their bond-- it’s incredible. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For believing in us.”

Cas smiles at him, a little sadly. “It’s all I have left to believe in.”

Christ. Dean’s throat feels too tight to speak, so he waits for a few seconds, getting himself back under control. “I believe in us, too,” he says eventually.

“I admit, I never expected us to find ourselves here so easily,” Cas replies, waving their joined hands to indicate their current position. “Though I’m glad that we did.”

Honestly, Dean didn’t really think it would be this easy either. So he should probably explain how they did end up here, at least from his perspective.

“When I was in...that other place,” he says slowly, “I saw things. Like visions, I guess. Dreams, almost.”

A fine line appears on Cas’ forehead as he squints at Dean. “Memories?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, they were things that hadn’t happened. Maybe they still will, or maybe they were just created by that place, I don’t know. But the point is, you were always there.”

“And they were happy visions?” Cas asks.

“The happiest,” Dean smiles. “You and me getting together. Settled down. Married, in one of them, would you believe it. Things I always wanted, but never thought I would get. Never thought I deserved.”

“Dean,” Cas says softly, but Dean shakes his head, needing to get this out.

“Let me finish,” he pleads, and Cas falls silent.

“And it was great, being there like that,” Dean continues. “But I knew it wasn’t real. And all I could keep thinking was that if I could get out of there, I had to make it even better when I got back. Back to you.”

Cas’ eyes are shining even in darkness of the room. Dean raises his hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “No more running from this,” he says. “It’s not new, the way I feel about you. But this is still a new start for us.”

There’s a second where they just stare at each other, and then-- “I love you,” Castiel breathes shakily. 

“I love you too,” Dean replies, holding his gaze. “God, I love you so much.”

“Dean,” Cas whispers.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“May I kiss you?”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, Cas.”

Castiel leans forward and presses his lips to Dean’s. It’s brief, and gentle, and tender. It’s perfect.

But once they start kissing, Dean doesn’t want to stop. He tugs on their clasped hands, pulling Cas towards him, and then on top of him. Castiel lets out a startled noise, but adjusts to the new position quickly, beaming down at Dean from where he’s braced above him.

Cas leans down and kisses him again, deeper this time. Dean parts his lips and kisses him back with all the love and ferocity he has in him. He runs his hands down Castiel’s back, enjoying the way it draws a breathless moan from him, and finally lets them settle at his hips, keeping their bodies in close contact.

They kiss for what feels like hours. Dean doesn’t feel any need to take it any further, not yet. They have so much time. He wants to enjoy this, to get used to it, to truly savour it. There’s a whole list of things Dean wants to do with Cas eventually, and he’s willing to bet that Cas will have some ideas of his own. But they have time.

When Dean finally pulls away to catch his breath, Cas murmurs in protest and begins dropping kisses all along Dean’s jaw and down the line of his neck. “Christ,” Dean mutters, turning his head to the side to give him better access. “That feels so good, Cas.”

Castiel stops, and Dean lets out a whine. “Hey,” he protests weakly.

“Sam and Eileen are awake,” Cas informs him. “The coffee will be ready soon.”

Dean’s made a lot of hard decisions in his life, but right now this one seems like the toughest. Stay here with Cas, hide away from everything but the two of them? Or go out and greet the day, knowing that Cas will still be by his side through it all? 

Castiel waits patiently. Finally Dean sighs and lightly pushes him aside. “Oh, alright,” he grumbles. “We should probably get up.”

“You should call Jody,” Cas informs him as Dean slips on his robe. It smells like it’s been freshly washed. He wonders who did that on his behalf. Probably Eileen. “We saw her when we went to Sioux Falls. She’ll be happy to hear that you’re back among us.”

Dean nods. He’s slowly becoming aware of what a group effort it was to call him back from that enchanted sleep. It’s a nice thing to know, that there’s such a dedicated team in his corner. He picks up his phone to at least send her a quick text, and is surprised to see a message from Crowley there. ' _I hear you’re back among us, Squirrel_ ,' it reads. Dean snorts and shakes his head. Group effort indeed. 

“Come on,” he says, playfully pulling at Cas’ leg to get him out of bed. “I’m not going out there to deal with Sam and Eileen by myself.”

“You mean the way I have over the past few days?” Cas says, just a hint of snark in his tone. 

Dean laughs. “Perfect,” he declares. “We can get as gross and lovey-dovey as we want, and claim it’s payback.”

“I fail to see how expressing affection through physical gestures is gross,” Castiel comments, finally sitting up and stretching, rolling his shoulders back a few times. Dean takes a second to admire the view. Yeah, he’s gonna get his hands all over that body pretty damn soon.

“Well, considering that we just made out without you complaining about my morning breath, that doesn’t exactly surprise me,” Dean says. 

Cas stands up and slips his arms around Dean’s waist, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Priorities, Dean,” he says. “Being able to kiss you is worth the slight unpleasantness.”

Well, that’s a pretty bold declaration right there. Dean tightens his arms around Cas before letting go with some reluctance. 

They make their way out to the kitchen, where Sam’s pouring four mugs of coffee and Eileen is getting the cream out of the fridge. There’s a chorus of good mornings all the way around, and it’s all so perfectly comfortable that Dean can barely believe it. 

But he does. He believes that this is how things are going to be from now on, because he’s the one who gets to control that. He’s going to hold onto this, no matter what. He’ll make mistakes, sure. Nothing’s ever perfect. But he vows to make this, these people right here, his first priority. 

Castiel’s knee nudges his under the table, and Dean looks over at him and smiles. “Love you,” he mouths. He’ll never get tired of saying it.

Sam catches his words. “Gross,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

Cas turns and looks at him, eyebrows raised. Then he grabs Dean’s face between his hands and plants a very firm, very deep kiss on Dean’s lips. Dean just hangs on for the ride, and stares at Cas when he pulls away.

Sam’s staring too, but Eileen is biting her lip to hold back her laughter. Sam clears his throat awkwardly. “Point made, I guess.”

Castiel returns to his coffee calmly. “In case there was any doubt about how things are going to be around here from now on.”

If this is the new status quo, that’s quite alright with Dean. He winks at Sam. “Better get used it.”

Sam sighs, but Dean sees right through him. He knows Sam is thrilled for them. Just like he’s thrilled for Sam and Eileen. 

He looks back at Cas and reaches for his free hand under the table. Grounding him, supporting him. Keeping him present. Because that’s what they do for each other-- they keep each other safe, and well, and happy. 

_Yeah_ , Dean thinks to himself, _this is going to be good_.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. This was a bit of a stretch for me, as I've never written anything so long in canon-verse, and it was pretty emotionally draining to write. I hope you all enjoyed it.


End file.
